BLIND JUSTICE: pages 1-25
Original screenplay by Terrence J. Brady
WGAe # 127672-00
All characters Marvel Entertainment Group


FADE IN


EXT. LIBERTY ISLAND, N.Y. - NIGHT

Black.  Flurries of white.

SOUND of faint moans--ecstasy--in the distance grows.

White flurries solidify--snowflakes.
Snow drives down hard from the sky onto the torch of


LADY LIBERTY 

Heavy breathing.  

HAND grasps the hair of a WOMAN.  Pulls it back.
TONGUE licks her neck.  Giggles of sexual delight.

The woman--obscured by the driven snow and black of 
night--pushes the MAN up against the railing.

Tears at his clothes.  Digs her nails into his chest.
He howls with drunken hysteria.

His hands race over her body.  Aroused.  She purrs.
Grabs his ass--lifting him up onto the railing.

Railing is iced--slippery.  

Gust of wind--he loses balances.

Over the edge he goes. Holds on for dear life.

		    MAN
	  My hand--my hand!  Take my hand, damn it!

Woman grabs his hand.  He can't pull himself back. 

His eyes bulge--scream stolen by the howling wind.

The world is a blur of lights and then --


BELOW - SECONDS LATER

Amidst the broken chains surrounding Liberty's feet --
the mangled CORPSE motionless.

ABOVE  

Wind whips snow--long black hair--across her face.
She looks down--150 feet.

		    MAN (V.O.)
	  My hand--my hand!  Take my hand, damn it!

Looks at severed HAND.  Discards it over the edge.  
Wipes her blade clean.


INT. UPPER EAST SIDE BROWNSTONE - MORNING
	
Light from TV only source of illumination:
Law books. A white cane. Chair facing the TV. 

HAND is on remote. MAN's back is to us.

ON SCREEN: Local news station WPIX, Channel 11.

		    NEWSANCHOR
	  ...State Department had no comment.
	      (beat)
	  Locally, the debate continues over
	  the key to the city; literally.
          John Herring a.k.a. Rainbow Dawn has
	  filed a class action suit against the
	  city in an attempt to reclaim Manhattan
	  for the Indian nation of Lenape.
	  Pre-trial discussions begin this week.

Hand moves over the remote.  Changes channels.

More news.

		    2nd NEWSANCHOR 
	  ...strange but fatal event early this	
          morning, left one man dead at Liberty 
	  Island.  

Head moves suddenly. Leans forward to reveal himself.  
MATT MURDOCK (blind attorney, 33) listens carefully.

		    2nd NEWSANCHOR (con't)
	  Jack Binder, 47, was found dead
	  by security forces at the base of 
	  the Statue around four this morning. 
	  Binder, a former Mayor's aide, has been 
	  linked with alleged crime lord Wilson 	
          Fisk in the past.  A woman was reported
	  to have been seen departing the island 	
	  shortly before dawn though investigators 
          had no comment.

Matt grasps the remote, agitated; squeezes hard.

Framed picture sits at the table beside him. 
Old college photo of him and a beautiful BRUNETTE. 

Her head rests on his shoulder; concealing herself. 

		    2nd NEWSANCHOR 
	  Turning to Wilson Fisk....


INT. FISK HEADQUARTERS - DAWN

Large office.  Huge desk.  Even bigger MAN.

WILSON FISK (48, industrialist/mobster, body of a 
Sumo wrestler) eyes the sixty-inch wall screen. 

		    2nd NEWSANCHOR (o.s.)
	  ...another day has gone by with no
	  results in his hostile bid to overtake
	  the MTA subway system.  A rash of
	  crimes, vandalism, and series of 
	  freak mishaps have taken its toll 
 	  on the ninety-five-year-old system.  
	  A slew of transit bombings earlier 
	  this fall, has sent subway ridership  
	  plummeting sixty-three percent as commuters 
	  seek out other means of transportation.

ON SCREEN: CITY HALL STEPS

DEPUTY MAYOR fights through crowd of REPORTERS.
		
		    REPORTER
	  ...true that Wilson Fisk is deliberating 
	  driving commuters away from the MTA,
          creating its financial crisis, only 
	  so he can acquire the system?

		    DEPUTY MAYOR
	  Speculation. I cannot deny or confirm
	  anything at this time.

		    2ND REPORTER
	  Can you confirm that Wilson Fisk is 
	  head of the largest faction of the 
	  eastern underworld and that in fact--

		    DEPUTY MAYOR 
	  --Let us just say that Mr. Fisk's 
	  pockets run deep and wide.  This 
	  mayor's office will not allow one 	
	  individual to dominate the pulse 
	  of the city's heart.

		    REPORTER
	  What of the reports of his ties with 
	  reputed assassin Bullseye?  Wasn't
	  it Fisk who hired him to assassinate 
	  the former mayor of New York?

Fisk watches the screen unmoved. 

Hands clasped together; as in prayer --
but he's no saint.

		    ANOTHER REPORTER (o.s.)
	  What about his Fisk's intention to
	  acquire the counsel of legal heavy-
	  weights, Murdock and Nelson? 

		    DEPUTY MAYOR (o.s.) 
	  What's the old saying about "fighting
	  city hall?"  And as far as the assassin 
	  known as Bullseye alias... 
	

INT. RIKERS ISLAND CELL - DAY

BENJAMIN POINDEXTER (34, confident, chaotic, lethal)
watches a small TV screen encased in bars.

		     DEPUTY MAYOR (V.O.)
	   ...Benjamin Poindexter?  No comment.

Ben (known from this point on as BULLSEYE) changes 
the channels until he finds an old movie.  

Contented smile on an otherwise restless face. 

		    BULLSEYE
	  ...iamspart...I am spart....
		  
		    VOICE
	  --Big fucking TV star, ain't ya? 

Ignoring the comment. Loses the smile.

		    BULLSEYE
	  You bring my stuff, lardo?
		
		    VOICE
	  Watch ya mouth Benjy.  Real tough 
	  talkin' shit when you'se can't breathe.

Hates that name.

		    BULLSEYE
	  Told you not to call me that.

D.O.C. GUARD (Jackie) stands outside Bullseye's cell.

		    JACKIE
	  Yeah-yeah.  Whatever Mr. TV man.
	  Grab some cuffs.

Bullseye bites his tongue; his day will come.

Puts his arm into two cylinder vices; clasps shut.

Jackie motions to another GUARD.  Bars slide open.
Enters the cell.  

		     JACKIE
	  Open wide.

Shoves an inhaler in Bullseye's mouth. 
Squirts a few doses of the medicine down.

		    JACKIE
	  Whew! That's toxic shit. Fuckin' FDA 
	  loves using you'se losers as their
	  guinea pigs, don't they?

Eyes closed.  Bullseye breathes deep.  Eyes open.

		    BULLSEYE
	  You're a dead man, Jackie.

Jackie scoffs, exiting.
		
		     JACKIE
	  Yeah, sure--sure.  Just remember.

Waving the inhaler at him through the bars.

		     JACKIE
	  Without me, you're dead.  
	       (yelling to other guard)
	  Close up!  H-318.

Bars slide shut. Cuffs unlock automatically.

		     BULLSEYE
                (to himself)
	  ...I-am-Spartacus.


INT. SUBWAY TUNNEL - DAY

Murky passageway. 
Age shows tracks have long since seen use.

LANTERN LIGHT parts the darkness.  One, then two.

		    VOICE #1
	  Damn if this ain't pissin' me off.

		    VOICE #2
	  We all gots a job to do.

		    VOICE #1
	  Twenty years in these tunnels.
	  Seen lots of crazy shit but this...
 	     (beat)
	  Tellin' ya--nothin' down this way.

MTA WORKERS trudge through twisted metal and filth.

		    WORKER #1
	  I remember--hey, what's that?

Flashlight shines onto old movie poster--torn, faded.

Worker #1 picks it up.  Dust rolls off the dull copy.

		    WORKER #1
	  Check it out...Invasion of the Body
	  Snatchers--fuckin' original.  Bet 
	  this shit is worth a few bucks.

Not interested.

		    WORKER #2
	  Was. Crap now if--hey--what's that?

Spies something moving up ahead. Off to investigate.  
Leaves his buddy behind.  

		    WORKER #2
	  Shit, yeah, I clean up. Ain't no damn
	  bonus this year from what...Yo! 
	  Charlie.  Charlie?  What the fuck, 
	  man--no time for this shit.

...SHHHTT-CRACK-CRACK.

Radio comes to life.  Static fades in--fades out.

                    VOICE ON RADIO
	  This is Command Center. Come in.
	
		    WORKER #2
	  Yeah, this is McFlattery on Track
	  H1 southeast of the Bridge Line
	  Station.  There's nothing down
	  here. Over.

		    VOICE
	  Confirmed. Return to center.

		    WORKER #2
	  Got that right.  Out.

Looks up and down the musty cavern.

		    WORKER #2
	  Yo Charlie.  Let's hit it.  Miller 
	  time.  Charlie?  Ahhh...shit.

Walks further into tunnel where he last saw Charlie.

Steps into a puddle of water.
Shines light down; not water but -- blood.

		    WORKER #2
	  What the fu--

Pans his light down the track onto a pair of --

MOTIONLESS LEGS

Panic sets in.  Scrambling--he trips over tracks.  
Loses light.

Gets up. 
Runs. 
Trips again. 
Looks up. 

Errant beam from flashlight strikes a HAND holding a 

JAPANESE SAI.  

He screams--shielding his face.

		    WORKER #2
	  Noooooo!


INT. RIKERS ISLAND/HOLDING CELL - EARLY EVENING

Table with a mic.  Camera lights.  
BULLSEYE sits opposite pompous REPORTER.
Scene right out of "Natural Born Killers."

Reporter twirls unlit cigarette between his fingers.

		    REPORTER
	  So tell me, Mr. Poindexter...

		    BULLSEYE
	  --Bullseye.

		    REPORTER
	  How's that?

		    BULLSEYE
	  Call me Bullseye.

		    REPORTER
	  All right, Mr. Bullseye.  You're
	  one of America's most notorious
	  assassins. A murderer--without 
	  remorse. Can you tell the viewing 
	  audience what it is that drives a 
	  man to commit such monstrosities?

		    BULLSEYE
	  Kill a man and you're a murderer.
	  Kill a thousand and you're a conqueror.
	  Kill 'em all--and you're a god.

Bullseye snickers--then wheezes.

		    REPORTER
	  Something wrong?

Bullseye shakes his head--trouble breathing.

		    REPORTER
	  Uh, guard?

		    JACKIE
	  Yeah-yeah; asthma.  Gets 'em all 
	  the time.

Shoves inhaler in Bullseye's mouth.

		    JACKIE
	  There you go Benjy--feel better?


FEW MOMENTS LATER

Bullseye's head still swooning.  Forehead covered in 
sweat.  Looks at reporter who lights up a cigarette.

		    REPORTER
	  Oh, sorry.  Guess I shouldn't be smoking.

Bullseye motions his fingers to his lips--wants one.

		    JACKIE
	  Let me.
	      (to Bullseye)
	  Benjy--you're a real f'ing pain.

Stuffs cigarette in Bullseye's mouth. 
Flicks the lighter. 

Leans into Bullseye. 
Bullseye leans into him.

Spits the cigarette out.  
Exhales hard.

Inhaler mist reacts with flame.  
Creates a small burst of fire.

		    JACKIE
	  Fucker!

Fire catches guard's face.  Blinds him for a second.
That's all the time Bullseye needs.  

He leaps to his feet. Snags reporter with his chains.

		    REPORTER
	  ...whatthe--ohGod!

Jackie still blinded. Fires his revolver wildly.
Bullet hits chain--separating Bullseye's cuffs.

The other GUARDS react.  
To Bullseye, they appear to be moving in slow-motion.

Bullseye grabs mic and spins it around like a bola.
WHACK!  Guard #2 loses his shotgun.

Bullseye seizes gun--pumps slide, and fires.

Guard #3 lands on his back with a THUD.

Guard #2 draws his sidearm. 

Bullseye drops to a crouching position.  Fires.  
Blasts guard's knee into soup.

Bullseye uses blunt end of spent shotgun to --
Plummet Jackie into the wall. 
 
Grabs hold of a discarded pistol. 
Pulls the cowering reporter in tight.


OUTSIDE CELL

Three more GUARDS.

		    GUARD #4
	  Give it up, Bullseye--you got nowhere...

BLAM--BLAM. Two shots fired. Two guards down.


INSIDE CELL

Reporter acts a shield--presses revolver to his head.  

		    BULLSEYE
	  Your choice.  Open the cell--or I 
	  open his skull.

Nervous guard--still a boy--hesitates.

Bullseye turns pistol on Jackie.  
Head covered in blood from earlier blow.

		    BULLSEYE
	  Oh, didn't forget my promise Jackie.

Cowering on floor.

		    JACKIE
	  Bullseye...no...NO!!

BLAM!

Points weapon back to reporter's head.  
Turns to young guard.

		    BULLSEYE
	  Any day now.

Guard shaking.  Lowers his gun.  Unlocks cell.


EXT. RIKERS PENITENTIARY ROOF - NIGHT

ARROOO-GA! ARROOO-GA!

Wail from prison horn could wake the dead.

BULLSEYE kicks in door. Drags REPORTER onto rooftop.  
SPOTLIGHTS crisscross the roof.

		    VOICE ON PA SYSTEM 
	  Release the hostage. You have 
	  nowhere to escape.

Bullseye eyes the lights.  
GUARDS closing in from all directions.

WHUMPP. WHUMPP. WHUMPP.

Police chopper converges over the yard.  
Chopper SHOOTIST beads down on Bullseye.

Bullseye fires at guards manning the two spotlights.  
Misses them--intentionally.  

Light spins into direction of chopper.


INSIDE CHOPPER

Errant spotlight blinds chopper PILOT.  
Jerks throttle back.


ON ROOFTOP

Chopper losing altitude.  SHOOTIST loses balance.  
Plummets to his death.

Chopper drops within meters of rooftop.  

Bullseye uses mic cord as a lasso.  Catches runner.

Pilot pulls up--too late.  He's got a hitchhiker.


INSIDE CHOPPER

GUNFIRE from all corners.  Pilot takes multiple hits.  

Chopper spins out of control--heading towards river.


SEVERAL HUNDRED YARDS AWAY

Chopper splashes down. Explosion lights up the night. 


EXT. CENTRAL PARK - NIGHT

Leafless trees. Dark branches appear as claws --
ready to snatch up the unsuspecting.

ELDERLY WOMAN walks a poodle; finishes its business.

Two HOODLUMS emerge from nowhere.

Hoodlum #1 grabs woman from behind.

Hoodlum #2 moves in but a --   

RED GLOVED HAND 
from a shrub seizes him--yanks him into the bush.

Meanwhile, the woman continues to struggle.
  
Hoodlum #1 turns looking for his buddy; nervous.

He backs up towards the bush--still clutching woman.

HAND from behind wraps around his neck.
Snatches him into the shrubbery.  Lets out a shriek.

Woman, free, runs off terrified--dog follows. 


LATER

Two police cars at scene. 
Woman talks with OFFICER as another OFFICER finds -- 
the two hoodlums, bound and unconscious, nearby. 


INT. JOSIE'S BAR - NIGHT

Riverfront dive of a bar.  Seedy.  Dank.

Idea of "live entertainment" consists of a lost 
tourist coming in for directions

TURK (30's; schemer with no plan) and GROTTO (early 
40's; even less of a plan) throw down some suds.

		    TURK
	  Lissen, Grotto. Got the lowdown on 
	  that gig on forty-ninth.

Grotto pays more attention to his wings and beer.

		    GROTTO
	  Uh-huh.

		    TURK
	  If we want a piece of this action, 
	  we got to move fast.

		    GROTTO
	  Uh-huh.

		    TURK
	  Ya with me on this?

		    GROTTO
	  Uh-huh.  Sure Turk.
	      (beat)
	  Uhh, what about the boss?


		    TURK
	  Shaddup. He don't need to know about 
	  it.  This is our score.  If he finds 
	  out, he'll want a cut.

		    GROTTO
	  Cut our throats.

		    TURK
	  Shaddup, would ya? I take care of
	  everything.

		    GROTTO
	  Then...there's the devil.

		    TURK
	  D-Devil?  Ya read too many comic
	  books. Ain't no devil.

		    GROTTO
	  That's what Mickey thought. Got
	  him in a rubber room upstate.

Looking to TV. Stained with smoke, dried beer.

		    TURK
	  Mickey always belonged in an asylum.
	     (to Josie)
	  Yo Josie--How bouts a little volume?

JOSIE (50, heavyset barkeep) grunts--turns it up.

ON SCREEN: Newsanchor with image of FISK.

		    NEWSANCHOR
	  ...met up with the legal partners of
 	  Murdock and Nelson.

ON SCREEN: LAW OFFICE OF MURDOCK/NELSON

FOGGY (35, jolly and carefree) answers questions 
while MATT stands aloof in background.

		    FOGGY
	  ...can't go into any details but my
	  partner and I will be meeting with	
	  Fisk's associates to discuss the 
	  matter further.

SCREEN: Back to newsanchor desk.  Image of BULLSEYE.

		    2nd NEWSANCHOR
	  A daring escape from Riker's 
	  Penitentiary earlier tonight was for 
	  naught for the repudiated assassin 
	  Benjamin Poindexter.  Though his 
	  body has yet to be found, authorities 
	  state chances of surviving the crash 
	  and the forty degree waters of the 
	  East River are slim.

WIDEN 

TURK and GROTTO continue to watch TV.

		    TURK
	  Damn!  Must be my birthday.  First
	  this gig and now ol' Bullsie biting 
	  the big one? Guess them three bills	
	  I owe him will be staying right 
	  here with papa.

		    GROTTO
	  Don't know if that's a good idea.

		    TURK
	  Shaddup Grotto--what you know?

Looking beyond Turk.

		    GROTTO
	  But...	

		    TURK
	  Ain't nothing you know that I don't
	  know.  Bullsie was same way. Always
	  thought he was the smart one.

Toasts his beer to the TV.

		    TURK
	  Yo Bulls--this one's for you.

Drinks his beer. Looks down. Puddle of water.

		    TURK
	  Ah man--what's this? Yo Jos--
	  your plumbing sprung a leak.
	      (to Grotto)
	  What...what the hell you staring at?

		    GROTTO
	  Uhhh....

Turk turns around.  Follows the trail of water to a 
pair of pant's legs--soaked.  Gazes up slowly.

Doesn't like what he sees.

		    VOICE
	  Hiya boys.

					
EXT. DESERTED STREET - NIGHT

DRUG DEALERS peddle their filth to the innocent.

Young MAN offers dollars in exchange for product.  
Dealer takes cash.  Brings him into alley.

No dope. Just a seven-inch blade at the man's throat.

Garbage can top flies out of nowhere. 
Knocks blade to ground. 
 
Young man runs off.  Dealer stunned.  
Gropes around the ground for his lost weapon.  

A SHADOW covers him.  Dealer looks up.  
Pair of RED EYES stare back at him.  

Dealer shields his face--terrorized.

Shadow envelopes him.


EXT. FISK'S ENTERPRISE - MORNING

Sleek high-rise.  Modern day "Tower of Babel."


INT. FISK'S OFFICE

Door opens.  SILHOUETTE stands in the door frame.

		    VOICE
	  Helloooo rrr-rabbit.

FISK sits at his desk.  He's not amused.
Copy of Daily Bugle lies nearby.  Headline reads:

"Devil strikes again."

		    FISK
	  ...Bullseye.

BULLSEYE enters--plops in a seat opposite him.
Scoops up paper--starts reading.

		    BULLSEYE
	  In the flesh.

		    FISK
	  Reports state you are dead.

		    BULLSEYE
	  Don't believe everything the media
	  tells ya--know I don't.

		    FISK
	  Do we have business?  Or is this a 
	  social call?

		    BULLSEYE
	  Little of both. The latter can wait.
	  Like to talk about my return to
	  employment.

Scoffs.

		    FISK
	  I have no use for guns for hire.
	  My enterprises are all of legitimate
	  nature.  Besides.  You are a 
	  wanted felon--fugitive from 
	  justice.  I would not allow such
	  men in my company.

Lowers the paper.

		    BULLSEYE
	  Fugitive from just...?  Hey--you
	  almost had me going there, king.  
	
Laughing--shortness of breath. Hits up his inhaler. 
Fisk eyes over the uninvited guest. 

		    FISK
	  You're a wreck, Bullseye. Mentally
	  and physically.

Winded.

		    BULLSEYE
	  Top...top of my game, King.

		    FISK
	  King?  Hmmm, as I've said.  I have 
	  no use for hired gunman.

		    BULLSEYE
	  Just women then, eh?

Got Fisk's attention.
			
		    BULLSEYE
	  Word gets around; even in the joint. 
	  Got yourself a new lady--lethal weapon.

		    FISK
	  You refer to my bodyguard?  Her 
	  duties are simple.  To protect.  She 
	  is not employed for covert operations.
	     (beat)
	  I wish you the best of luck with your 
          endeavors, Bullseye.

Presses a button under his desk.  Door opens.

Bullseye gets the point--not too happy.

		    BULLSEYE
	  I'll be seeing you around, King.

		    FISK
	  Don't count on it.

Exiting with a smirk. 

		    BULLSEYE
	  We'll see.


INT. NIGHTCLUB - THAT EVENING

Capacity CROWD. Dance floor gyrates to a techno tune.
Strobe lights slice through the smoke and chatter.


UPPER LEVEL

FOGGY and MATT sit by themselves.  Dressed in suits. 
They stick out like fish out of water.

Foggy taps on the table to the beat.

		    FOGGY
	  Place is zooming, Matt.

Matt is preoccupied; shades cover his eyes.

		    FOGGY
	  C'mon buddy. It's a par-tay.

		    MATT
	  It's a--business--meeting.

		    FOGGY
	  Wonder why they wanted to meet here.

		    MATT
	  Because HE owns it.

		    FOGGY
	  He...he who?

		    MATT
	  Fisk.

		    FOGGY
	  Don't say.  How you know that?

		    MATT
	  I just know.

Foggy turns his attention to the dance floor.  
Several MEN gang dance with a beautiful WOMAN.

Like a siren she seduces the men to her calling.

		    FOGGY
	  Wow!  Now there's a witness I'd like
	  to cross examine.  Go mama!

Matt turns.

		    MATT
	   What do you see?


ON DANCE FLOOR
Long black hair moves to the beat.  
Sweat.  Gyrating limbs. 
Bump and grind. 

Smoke and the masses blur her from clear sight.

		    FOGGY (o.s.)
	  My future ex-wife.  Mama mia.
	  She's something out of this world. 
	  Reminds me of that old girl of 
	  yours from college, Elek....

		    MATT (o.s.)
	  --Elektra?

UPPER LEVEL

		     FOGGY
	  Whoops--sorry.  Extract foot from mouth.

Just the mere mention of the name strikes deep. 

		    MATT
	     (voice at a whisper)
	  Elektra?

Foggy unsure what to say next.
Turns back to the dance floor. 

		    FOGGY
	  Man--look at the moves!
	     (beat)
 	  Why don't we--Matt?

Before he can finish, Matt is gone.  Looks around. 

Spies Matt downstairs--moving through the crowd.

		    FOGGY
	  Geez Matt--you're going to get hurt 
	  down there.


DANCE FLOOR

Fury of waving hands and feet.

Walking cane in hand. 
Matt politely makes his way through the crowd.

Base intensifies.  MUSIC becomes deafening.

It overwhelms him. Covers his ears.

Moment passes.  Anguish fades.
The woman is gone though.  
She exits out a side door.

Pushing through the crowd, he follows.


EXT. ALLEY OUTSIDE CLUB
	
MATT exits.  Scans up and down the alley--no woman.
Door slams shut behind him. Locked out.

		    VOICE
	  Looks like you'se took a wrong turn.

Matt turns to the voice. Faced with four HOODS.

		    MATT
	  Sorry. I was just looking for a woman.

		    HOOD #2
	  Shee-hit! Ain't we all, my man.  

Scoping out Matt's Armani suit.

		    HOOD #2
	  Digging them fine threads.  

Switchblade ejects from its housing.

		    HOOD #2
	  Don't make me cut you out of it.

		    MATT
	  I don't want any trouble.

		    HOOD #3
	  Well cuzzz...trouble has found you.

Beer bottle comes down onto Matt's back.  

Matt raises his cane over his head.  
Blocks it.  
Same motion.  Kicks knife from other hood's hand.

		    HOOD #2
	  Muthafuc--

Hoods caught off guard.  
Matt spins--jabs cane into #3's ribs. One down.

Matt goes low, sweeping kick.  Knocks two more down.

#2 rushes Matt.  
Matt's cane hook catches ladder of fire escape--
pulls himself up.  

#2 misses Matt.  Crashes into brick wall--out cold.

Matt flips down from fire escape.  
Hard strike to #1's throat takes him out. 
 
Biggest of hoods (#4) comes out of nowhere. 
Matt picks up garbage can lid.  CLANG!

#4 falls back; dazed.  Matt runs towards him.
Plants cane like a pole-vaulter and hurls over hood.

Matt taps him on shoulder from behind. 
#4 turns--his face meets Matt's fist.  

BAM! Lights out.
Just then, FOGGY bursts through door.

		    FOGGY
	  Matt--Matt! You okay?

Picking up his walking stick; calm.

		    MATT
	  Must have taken wrong turn to the 
          bathroom.

Staring at four battered hoods on ground.

		    FOGGY
	  You--you sure you're all right?

Re-entering club.

		    MATT
	  Don't we still have a meeting?

Scratches his head; still can't believe his eyes.

		    FOGGY
	  ...yeah, suppose we.... 


INT. SUBWAY PLATFORM - EARLY NEXT DAY

Crime scene.  Police pull two body bags from tracks.

INSPECTOR talks to another PATROLMAN.

		    INSPECTOR
	  Where'd you say they were found?
	
		    PATROLMAN 
	  About quarter mile down. Bloody mess
	  down there.

Unzips one of the bags. Looks at the entry wound. 
Three holes in a row--center one is the deepest.

		    INSPECTOR (o.s.)
	  Damn ginsu knife.

		    VOICE
	  Excuse me.

BEN URICH (45, pale, could be "Colombo's" twin).
		
		    INSPECTOR
	  No--no.  No press.

Ben inspects body.

		    BEN
	  You determine the cause of death?

		    PATROLMAN 
	  Definitely a knife wound.

Zips the bag--turns to Ben

		    INSPECTOR
	  Ben, you deaf?  I said no--
		
		    BEN
	  That's no ordinary knife wound. Looks 
	  more like a pitchfork...maybe a sai.
					    

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Crowded street.  BULLSEYE walks without purpose.

Stops in front of an electronics store.
Window filled with dozens of different size TV's.  
All display same image; scene from "TAXI DRIVER."

ON SCREEN:  DENIRO talks to himself in a mirror.

		    DENIRO
	  You talkin' to me? You talkin' to 
	  me?  You talkin' to me?  Then who 
	  the hell else are you talkin' to?  
	  You talkin' to me?

		    BULLSEYE (o.s.)
	  ...you talkin' to me?  Talkin' to me?

Bullseye finds himself mesmerized by the images.

		    BULLSEYE
	  ...you talkin' to me?

MAN, burly weightlifter, walks by Bullseye.

		    BULLSEYE
	  ...you talkin' to me?

		    WEIGHTLIFTER
	  Fuck off.

Bullseye throws off his overcoat.  Leaps onto the 
man's back.  Digs his fingers into his eye sockets.

Blood streams from the sockets.  
Man lets out a high pitched scream.  

Another PEDESTRIAN comes to his aid.

Bullseye digs out a handful of roofer's nails.

Hurls them at the man.  Deadly accuracy.  
Pegs him in the chest--blood splatters the sidewalk.

		    VOICE
	  Hey--hey you!

Hot Dog VENDOR abandons his cart; joins the fray.

		    BULLSEYE
	  ...you--talkin'--to--me?

Vendor swings a nightstick at Bullseye. 

Bullseye ducks--
catches stick--
flips vendor into the storefront window.

KRR--CRASH!  

Window pane explodes. TVs burst into flash of flames.

CROWD flees in all directions.  
Two men in street; bloody.  VENDOR in window; dead.

Through the smoke, a few TV's still function.
Fuzzy--static image of DeNiro.

		    DENIRO
	  ...You talkin' to me?  Well, I'm 
	  the only one here.

		    BULLSEYE
	  ...cause I'm the only one here.

Starts to wheeze. Pulls out his inhaler.

Moment passes--breathing back to normal.  
Glances around.  CROWD acts like nothing happened.

Turns back to store window...not smashed. 
TV's all working fine.  

		    VENDOR (o.s.)
	  Yo--red hots.  Come and get 'em.
	  Red hots right here.

Turns to vendor peddling his product.  He's alive.

Bullseye rubs his temples--it was all in his head.

CONTINUE


pp1-25 | pp26-50 | pp51-75 | pp76-100 | pp101-119


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