“Fed X" by Dario Scardapane August 25, 2005FUCK YOU: EXT. MIAMI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY The modern crescent stretches out under dirty sunlight. Planes cut the sky, taking travelers home, away, out. EXT. CONCOURSE E - MIAMI ATRPORT - DAY Cars spit passengers to the curb. Sliding doors open and shut. Suddenly, a BLACK HAND tosses a gleaming GLOCK 9MM into a trash can. ANTWAN “THE SWAN” CARTER (32) stalks through the doors. He's sleepless, dirty and beat to shit. Muscled, tattooed, dead- eyed, Antwan looks like what he is: a flat-out gangster fuck. INT. AIR JAMAICA TERMINAL - DAY Antwan clocks the scene. TSA FLUNKIES attempt security. A MONITOR flashes departures, arrivals. Ticket AGENTS beam plastic smiles. He steps to one. CLOSE UP: ANTWAN’S SHOES A reddish brown splatter stains his Nikes -- BLOOD. ANTWAN Gimme a ticket to Kingstown. Next flight out. (yanking a roll of bills) First class. AIR JAMAICA AGENT We have space available on flight 426 to Kingston. I just need some identification. AROUND THE TERMINAL TSA starts to notice him. Antwan hands over his LICENSE. She types it in. Her smile never wavers. COMPUTER MONITOR Instantly, a WARNING TAG flashes on the screen along with a mug shot Of Antwan: “NO FLY, FEDERAL PERSON OF INTEREST.” INT. AIRPORT SECURITY OFFICE - DAY The same warning blazes on half a dozen monitors. Words pop out: “ARMED & DANGEROUS,” “MURDER,” “ARMED ROBBERY.” TSA OFFICER Oh God.INT. AIR JAMAICA TERMINAL - DAY The ticket agent tries to stay frosty. It doesn’t work. Antwan easily reads the terror on her face. AIR JAMAICA AGENT Uhh... just give me a second while I confirm your seat... Nervous TSA OFFICERS head toward him. Sensing the heat, Antwan turns and heads for the door. AIR JAMAICA AGENT (cont'd) Sir! Your license! EXT. CONCOURSE E - MIAMI AIRPORT - DAY Antwan hits the sidewalk. AIRPORT COPS trot toward him. AIRPORT COP You there! Antwan explodes into a run. He sees a TANNED BEACH COUPLE next to a PORSCHE. Antwan jumps into the driver’s seat. TANNED BEACH GUY Hey asshole... He sees the murder in Antwan’s eyes. TANNED BEACH GUY (cont'd) It's cool, buddy. It’s cool. INT. PORSCHE - DAY Antwan spots converging cops in the rearview, slams the car into gear. EXT. COUNCOURSE E - DAY Sereeching out, Antwan weaves through taxis, pedestrians... A SHUTTLE BUS blocks him. Spinning the wheel, Antwan TEARS straight over the MEDIAN crushing luggage, blasting into traffic. Bouncing off a shuttle, Antwan cuts across three lanes of airport traffic. On foot, Airport PD watch him go. Seconds later, lights blazing, cop CRUISERS tear by. INT/EXT. PORSCHE - 36TH STREET - DAY A half mile from the airport, Antwan pulls over near the slimy neon of the PINK PUSSYCAT GENTLEMEN’S CLUB. (CONTINUED)CONTINUED: SIRENS sound in the distance as Antwan lopes to the red rope. The mound of RUSSIAN MUSCLE at the door makes him look small: BOUNCER (thick accent) Yo, homey. It’s twenty dollars and ID. No warning, no hesitation, Antwan drives his FIST into the Bouncer’s gut, doubling him over. A fast shot to the face SHATTERS his nose. Pushing him away, Antwan steps into. INT. PINK PUSSYCAT - DAY Bump, grind and violence. Topless women gyrate. RUSSIANS spot Antwan, reading trouble. Then... Blood pouring down his face, the BOUNCER grapples after Antwan. Half-stoned STRIPPERS scream as the Russians join the fight. At home in a brawl, Antwan serves up damage, pounding the Russians, tossing chairs, breaking shit up. A Russian pulls a GUN. Antwan slaps it away. Seen through the door, MIAMI PD CRUISERS screech to a stop. BATONS drawn, the police wade in. It’s mayhem to a stripper soundtrack, Police struggle for Antwan. Russians get in the way. Finally, the cops pull the Russians off and subdue Antwan. CUFFS click on his wrists. EXT. PINK PUSSYCAT - DAY Miami PD shoves Antwan toward a cruiser. Late to the party, @ plain BUREAU CAR pulls up. AGENT JIM MCCARRAN (40s) eases out of the car. Old school Fed, Men’s Wearhouse suit, he flashes ID at the locals. MCCARRAN Unh, unh. He’s ours. Carter’s wanted on Federal counts. (holding up fingers) Five of ‘em. MIAMI PD And I just witnessed assault on an officer, battery, GIA, probably six or seven other felonies. (shoving Antwan in the cruiser) He’s going to Metro. MCCARRAN Trust me, Officer... (reading badge) Reynosa. Our charges outweigh yours. (CONTINUED)CONTINUED: REYNOSA You got paper on him? (off McCarran) Well then, get some, call my Watch Commander’ and work it out. Until then, he’s going to Metro. In the car, Antwan watches the argument end. He locks eyes with McCarran and SMILES through bloody lips. cur TO: INT. BULLPEN - FEDERAL BUILDING - NEW YORK - DAY Suits, stress and cubicles. Agents pack a conference room, going over blueprints of MADISON SQUARE GARDEN. The wall holds stat sheets of POLITICIANS -~ names, home states, security priorities. JOSHUA SAMPSON, the handsome ATTORNEY GENERAL, figures prominently. Too junior for even the smallest cubicle, AGENT MILES VREBLAND (27) reads photocopies of HATE MAIL at a tiny makeshift desk. He’s so young, so green. His small workspace sits perfectly ordered, everything in its place. VREELAND’S POV: MAIL A psycho scrawl: “Libarral Pawn of Zion, you will DIE...” VREBLAND (to himself) It’s “e-r-a-1” you nutbag. Vreeland’s CELL PHONE buzzes. The caller ID reads “HOME.” For a second, he considers. Then, he presses “DECLINE.” AGENT DANNY FOX (30s) -- Alpha Male, cocksure -- glides by Vreeland’s “desk.” FOX Hey Vreeland, your buddy Beckett’s on line two. VREELAND The A.D.’s calling me? FOX Yeah. You better get it. Vreeland punches the speaker button under the blinking light. A husky PORNO VOICE fills the air. PORN LINE (over) ++ I’m Trina. (MORE) (CONTINUED)CONTINUED: PORN LINE (cont'd) 36DD, 6 inches cut, Pre-op tranny, looking for hot guys and hot nights... Fox and the others crack up. Their laughter ends quickly. Pure power, ASSISTANT DIRECTOR DONALD BECKETT (50s) -- put together inside and out -- glides through the bullpen. PORN LINE (cont/d) (over) +++ Call me, see me, do me... BECKETT Agent Fox, make your social arrangements on your own time. (to Vreeland) Walk with me. INT. ELEVATOR - FEDERAL BUILDING - DAY The elevator heads straight to the top. BECKETT Looks like you're getting it pretty bad. VREELAND Not really, sir. The usual stuff. Tracer bullets at the range. Making me pick up lunch at the morgue. That kind of thing. BECKETT, You meet Michael Hoch yet? VREELAND My second week. They told me he was a C.I. I was supposed to go to the Ramrod in the Bowery to meet him. Turns out it’s a leather bar, So I walk in and ask, “Where can I find Mike Hoch?” Yeah, it sounds like "My Cock.” Beckett chuckles. BECKETT I love that one. INT. EXECUTIVE OFFICES - FEDERAL BUILDING - DAY The corridors of power. Beckett clips to the big office. BECKETT You know, Vreeland. A lot of Agents believe that New York is no place for a rookie. Too much pressure. Too many politics. I’m not one of those Agents. I firmly believe in sink or swim. (CONTINUED)CONTINUED: VREELAND I’m trying sir. BECKETT Yes you are. I read your risk assessment of Sampson. Insightful, not too hysterical. We'll be relying on it heavily as we firm up security. ‘VREELAND (proud) Thank you sir. BECKETT I've seen your Instructors Reports from Quantico. “Good interview skills. Excellent forensics. Your shooting could stand improvement. VREELAND I’m working on that at the range, sir. BECKETT So tell me, do you enjoy doing analysis? Loaded question. INT. BECKETT'S OFFICE - DAY Decorated in civil service Spartan, the walls hang with PHOTOS of Beckett with every PRESIDENT from Ford to Bush. VREELAND Director Beckett, um, when I posted here, I requested a Fiéld assignment. BECKETT I know. Beckett hands over a file with ANTWAN CARTER’S mug shot. BECKETT (cont’d) Miami PD picked him up trying to jump a flight to Jamaica. I want you to go down there and bring him back. ‘VREELAND (egistering the face) Um, sir, this is Antwan Carter. From the L.I.E. heist. BECKETT, Is that a problem? I’m putting my confidence in you. With the convention, I can’t spare a Senior Agent on this. (CONTINUED)CONTINUED: \VREELAND No, sir. No problem at all. Will I be working with the Air Marshals on this? BECKETT Marshals yes. Air no. You're taking the train. VREELAND The Federal Express? Didn’t we stop using the train in the 80s? BECKETT That's right. But we’re light on Physical Evidence with this one. I want to give you time with him. Work on him, open him up. VREELAND You want a confession. BECKETT I just need him here. Do that and you've done your job. But... (a beat) You come back with a statement and 1/11 put you on permanent Field Assignment. Whoa. VREELAND Thank you sir. I really appreciate this. BECKETT. Be careful with him Vreeland, Antwan Carter is exactly what his file says he is. INT. VREELAND’S APARTMENT - DAY Cozy, a couple’s place with IKEA cabinets and overstuffed furniture. Meticulous, Vreeland packs. Clothes, FILES, a new IPOD. Last is a HECKLER & KOCH MP23 PISTOL. A $2500 pistol for a Rookie in a $300 suit. A key sounds at the door. CARRIE VREELAND (20s) -- bored, beautiful -- steps in. ‘The wind sags from Vreeland’s sails. VREELAND I thought you were out. I left a note. CARRIE What? Are you leaving? (CONTINUED)CONTINUED: VREELAND I’m going to Miami. For work. I should be back in a couple of days. CARRIE Miles, we really need to talk. VREELAND I’ve got to catch a plane. CARRIE Look, I want to explain... VREELAND Don’t. Alright? I don’t want to get into this right now. Carrie’s CELL PHONE beeps on the counter: “Text message received.” Something hard passes between them. VREELAND (cont'd) See? No explanation necessary. CARRIE (heading back out) Don’t be a cop at home, Miles. She's out the door. He watches her go. EXT. MIAMI INTERNATIONAL ATRPORT - DAY Fumes churning the air, a 747 skids to a landing. EXT. BAGGAGE CLAIM - DAY MCCARRAN scans the crowd. Vreeland spots him immediately, making the suit, the FBI vibe. McCarran keeps looking. VREELAND Agent McCarran? I’m Miles Vreeland. MCCARRAN Hey, I thought they’d send someone, VREELAND More experienced? You know something? That makes two of us. INT/EXT. BUREAU CAR - MIAMI STREETS - DAY McCarran glides past Palm Trees and wealth, heading into downtown. Vreeland scrolls through his BLACKBERRY. MCCARRAN I’ve been dealing with Antwan fucking Carter for ten years. (MORE) (CONTINUED)CONTINUED: MCCARRAN (cont'd) Nothing he could do would surprise me but this... It’s pretty big. Pretty brutal even for him. (eyeing the BlackBerry) The New FBI. Kids with toys. VREELAND It's the 21st Century. MCCARRAN Don’t remind me. VREELAND (checking Blackberry notes) Carter had blood on his shoes when he was picked up. Lab get anything? MCCARRAN Dick-ola. It’s human. Not his and not from the murders. Psycho gangster, shit case. They picked a world class piece of shit to pop your cherry. VREELAND Maybe we’1l get lucky with the Federal Express. MCCARRAN And maybe my wife will throw some my way tonight. But I’m not counting on it. EXT, MIAMI-WEST DETENTION CENTER - DAY An ugly building, holding ugly things inside. INT. DIRECTOR'S OFFICE - MIAMI-WEST DETENTION - DAY DIRECTOR BUTLER -- African American, beyond jaded -- stares at Vreeland, McCarran and an OFFICIAL SHEET OF PAPER. DIRECTOR BUTLER I have four open warrants on him. He’s a material witness in a slew of cases. And I’m supposed to cough him up? It’s bullshit boys. VREELAND Um, it’s a writ of extradition, sir. DIRECTOR BUTLER I can see that. (thinking, reading) Your case up in New York. Think he’1l die for it? VREELAND Yes sir. I do. (CONTINUED)10. CONTINUED: DIRECTOR BUTLER Well then, who am I to argue with justice? INT. DISPATCH - MIAMI-WEST DETENTION - DAY MIAMI PD clear a path. A GUARD unlocks a SCATTER GUN. All eyes settle on the DISPATCH DOOR. It opens... SHACKLED, CUFFED, escorted by a cadre of GUARDS, Antwan shuffles out. Even lugging metal, he’s scary as hell. Slowly, Antwan moves for the door, He watches McCarran, Vreeland, criminal instincts reading the play. ANTWAN Where the fuck you taking me McCarran? MCCARRAN Not me. Him. Antwan glares at Vreeland. Silent, holding his gaze. Vreeland can’t take it. He looks away. VREELAND C’mon let’s go. EXT. HIGHWAY - MIAMI - DAY POLICE CRUISERS and McCarran’s Bureau Car roll down the freeway with the TRANSPORT VAN. EXT. AMTRAK STATION - MIAMI - DAY A gleaming train, THE SILVER METEOR, waits at the station. The grim parade glides into the parking lot. INT. FEDERAL EXPRESS CAR - SILVER METEOR- DAY Two strapping UNIFORMED MARSHALS check the doors of the last car. It’s a standard coach. Seats, tables, a REST ROOM. RESTROOM Vreeland puts down the seat, wipes his mouth. Checks himself in the mirror. Pulling it together, he heads back out. MCCARRAN You okay? VREELAND Yeah I’m fine. MCCARRAN Look, he’s shackled. You’ve got two armed Marshals with you. (MORE) (CONTINUED)qu. CONTINUED: MCCARRAN (cont'd) They’11 check the train every couple of hours. Carter needs to move, take a squirt, whatever, have them handle it. MARSHAL SHOCKLEY I’m Ben Shockley, this is Carl Jacobs. VREELAND Glad to have you guys on board. MCCARRAN, I can call my S.A.C. Maybe make the run with you. I love New York. VREELAND No. I’m okay. I wouldn’t be here if I couldn't do the job, right? MCCARRAN Right. (shaking hands) Good luck Vreeland. Hey... Welcome to the Field. Leaving, McCarran passes Antwan and his escort. MCCARRAN (cont'd) Happy trails, asshole. EXT. SILVER METEOR - DAY Engine churning, the train pulls away from the station. INT. FEDERAL EXPRESS CAR - SILVER METEOR - DAY Cuffed, shackled, wedged into his seat, ANTWAN watches Vreeland unload his case. VREELAND Alright Antwan. I’m Special Agent Miles Vreeland. You are being extradited to the New York office, where you will be charged. He puts everything down neat, orderly, just so. Legal pad, file, playing cards, iPod, a’ pack of CIGARETTES. VREELAND (cont'd) On the way there, I’m hoping you and I can clear some things... Antwan’s cuffed HANDS FLY, snagging the smokes. They STOP inches from Vreeland’s face. Antwan crushes the cigarettes. Vreeland FLINCHES. ANTWAN That shit’11 kill you. (CONTINUED)12. CONTINUED: VREELAND (rattled) Put your hands down Antwan. Antwan’s hands stay put. ANTWAN I know what you are. You're straight pussy. And you think that gun under your shoulder and these two motherfuckers with you gives you balls. But they don’t. Vreeland stops the Marshals with a look. If he has them handle it now, he’ll lose all credibility. VREELAND I’m an FBI Agent, Mister Carter. You will show me respect or 1/11 have them tighten your chains. Antwan drops his hands. Shaking, Vreeland opens the file. VREELAND (cont’d) This is what we know. Four days ago, in New York... THE HEIST: VREELAND’S VERSION This is the FBI point of view. Everything looks like jangly Black & White surveillance footage. EXT. LONG ISLAND EXPRESSWAY - FOUR DAYS AGO - DAY (B&W) TRAFFIC chokes the sweltering asphalt heading into the Toll Plaza. A LOOMIS FARGO ARMORED CAR approaches a toll booth. EXT. TOLL BOOTH - DAY (BW) The ARMORED CAR DRIVER slips open the tiny window, reaching for the coin catcher. Wham! A HANDCUFF slaps on his wrist. A YOUNG BLACK KID snaps the other end of the cuff to the booth’s door. The image of the kid FREEZES. INT. FEDERAL EXPRESS CAR - SILVER METEOR - DAY Vreeland lays out a cheesy SCHOOL PICTURE of the same kid. VREELAND You had Terrel Robbins in the booth. Sixteen years old... EXT, TOLL PLAZA - LONG ISLAND EXPRESSWAY - DAY (B&W) GUN in his face, the driver struggles with his CUFFED HAND. (CONTINUED)13. CONTINUED: TWO CARS pull into the toll lanes on either side of the Armored Car. Now, THREE LANES are tied up, causing a mammoth bottleneck behind’ the plaza. Ahead is pure EMPTY EXPRESSWAY. Toting AK-47s, two more BLACK KIDS jump from the cars, heading for the truck. One slaps C4 against the lock. The image of two youths with assault rifles FREEZES. INT. FEDERAL EXPRESS CAR - SILVER METEOR - DAY Two more posed PHOTOS hit the table. They look so young. VREELAND Daniel Greeley, seventeen and Lyman Thomas, sixteen had the truck.... EXT. ARMORED CAR - TOLL BOOTH - DAY (B&W) Greeley and Lyman step back from the Armored Car. Boom! The plastic explosive DETONATES, blasting open the door. INT. ARMORED CAR - DAY (B&W) The concussion knocks two GUARDS on their asses. Ina corner, a small SURVEILLANCE CAMERA peers down. Greeley and Lyman jump inside, bashing the guards with their AKs. ‘They head for stacks of bulging MONEY BAGS. EXT. LONG ISLAND EXPRESSWAY - DAY (B&W) On the clear side of the Expressway, a CAR barrels down the wrong way, heading for the Armored Car. A final BLACK KID jumps out, loading money bags. The image FREEZES. INT. FEDERAL EXPRESS CAR - SILVER METEOR - DAY Vreeland lays down the last PHOTO. A beaming little boy. VREELAND And Calvin Brookings was the getaway driver. Fifteen years old. You used your own nephew. A nasty ripple courses through Antwan. The MARSHALS notice. ANTWAN Fuck you. VREELAND Antwan, I’ve read your file. I know how you work. You recruit minors. Wannabe gangbangers looking to make a mark. You teach them. They do the robberies. South Florida Trust in ‘03. Atlanta Chase in ‘04. (CONTINUED)