BLIND JUSTICE: pages 1-25
Original screenplay by Terrence J. Brady
WGAe # 127672-00
All characters © Marvel Entertainment Group
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
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.
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.
Wind whips snow--long black hair--across her face.
She looks down--150 feet.
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.
...State Department had no comment.
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.
...strange but fatal event early this
morning, left one man dead at Liberty
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.
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.
...true that Wilson Fisk is deliberating
driving commuters away from the MTA,
creating its financial crisis, only
so he can acquire the system?
Speculation. I cannot deny or confirm
anything at this time.
Can you confirm that Wilson Fisk is
head of the largest faction of the
eastern underworld and that in fact--
--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.
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.
...iamspart...I am spart....
--Big fucking TV star, ain't ya?
Ignoring the comment. Loses the smile.
You bring my stuff, lardo?
Watch ya mouth Benjy. Real tough
talkin' shit when you'se can't breathe.
Hates that name.
Told you not to call me that.
D.O.C. GUARD (Jackie) stands outside Bullseye's cell.
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.
Shoves an inhaler in Bullseye's mouth.
Squirts a few doses of the medicine down.
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.
You're a dead man, Jackie.
Jackie scoffs, exiting.
Yeah, sure--sure. Just remember.
Waving the inhaler at him through the bars.
Without me, you're dead.
(yelling to other guard)
Close up! H-318.
Bars slide shut. Cuffs unlock automatically.
INT. SUBWAY TUNNEL - DAY
Age shows tracks have long since seen use.
LANTERN LIGHT parts the darkness. One, then two.
Damn if this ain't pissin' me off.
We all gots a job to do.
Twenty years in these tunnels.
Seen lots of crazy shit but this...
Tellin' ya--nothin' down this way.
MTA WORKERS trudge through twisted metal and filth.
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.
Check it out...Invasion of the Body
Snatchers--fuckin' original. Bet
this shit is worth a few bucks.
Was. Crap now if--hey--what's that?
Spies something moving up ahead. Off to investigate.
Leaves his buddy behind.
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.
Radio comes to life. Static fades in--fades out.
VOICE ON RADIO
This is Command Center. Come in.
Yeah, this is McFlattery on Track
H1 southeast of the Bridge Line
Station. There's nothing down
Confirmed. Return to center.
Got that right. Out.
Looks up and down the musty cavern.
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.
What the fu--
Pans his light down the track onto a pair of --
Panic sets in. Scrambling--he trips over tracks.
Errant beam from flashlight strikes a HAND holding a
He screams--shielding his face.
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.
So tell me, Mr. Poindexter...
Call me Bullseye.
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?
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.
Bullseye shakes his head--trouble breathing.
Yeah-yeah; asthma. Gets 'em all
Shoves inhaler in Bullseye's mouth.
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.
Oh, sorry. Guess I shouldn't be smoking.
Bullseye motions his fingers to his lips--wants one.
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.
Inhaler mist reacts with flame.
Creates a small burst of fire.
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.
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.
Three more GUARDS.
Give it up, Bullseye--you got nowhere...
BLAM--BLAM. Two shots fired. Two guards down.
Reporter acts a shield--presses revolver to his head.
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.
Oh, didn't forget my promise Jackie.
Cowering on floor.
Points weapon back to reporter's head.
Turns to young guard.
Any day now.
Guard shaking. Lowers his gun. Unlocks cell.
EXT. RIKERS PENITENTIARY ROOF - NIGHT
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.
Light spins into direction of chopper.
Errant spotlight blinds chopper PILOT.
Jerks throttle back.
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.
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.
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.
Lissen, Grotto. Got the lowdown on
that gig on forty-ninth.
Grotto pays more attention to his wings and beer.
If we want a piece of this action,
we got to move fast.
Ya with me on this?
Uh-huh. Sure Turk.
Uhh, what about the boss?
Shaddup. He don't need to know about
it. This is our score. If he finds
out, he'll want a cut.
Cut our throats.
Shaddup, would ya? I take care of
Then...there's the devil.
D-Devil? Ya read too many comic
books. Ain't no devil.
That's what Mickey thought. Got
him in a rubber room upstate.
Looking to TV. Stained with smoke, dried beer.
Mickey always belonged in an asylum.
Yo Josie--How bouts a little volume?
JOSIE (50, heavyset barkeep) grunts--turns it up.
ON SCREEN: Newsanchor with image of FISK.
...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.
...can't go into any details but my
partner and I will be meeting with
Fisk's associates to discuss the
SCREEN: Back to newsanchor desk. Image of BULLSEYE.
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.
TURK and GROTTO continue to watch TV.
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.
Don't know if that's a good idea.
Shaddup Grotto--what you know?
Looking beyond 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.
Yo Bulls--this one's for you.
Drinks his beer. Looks down. Puddle of water.
Ah man--what's this? Yo Jos--
your plumbing sprung a leak.
What...what the hell you staring at?
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.
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.
FISK sits at his desk. He's not amused.
Copy of Daily Bugle lies nearby. Headline reads:
"Devil strikes again."
BULLSEYE enters--plops in a seat opposite him.
Scoops up paper--starts reading.
In the flesh.
Reports state you are dead.
Don't believe everything the media
tells ya--know I don't.
Do we have business? Or is this a
Little of both. The latter can wait.
Like to talk about my return to
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.
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.
You're a wreck, Bullseye. Mentally
Top...top of my game, King.
King? Hmmm, as I've said. I have
no use for hired gunman.
Just women then, eh?
Got Fisk's attention.
Word gets around; even in the joint.
Got yourself a new lady--lethal weapon.
You refer to my bodyguard? Her
duties are simple. To protect. She
is not employed for covert operations.
I wish you the best of luck with your
Presses a button under his desk. Door opens.
Bullseye gets the point--not too happy.
I'll be seeing you around, King.
Don't count on it.
Exiting with a smirk.
INT. NIGHTCLUB - THAT EVENING
Capacity CROWD. Dance floor gyrates to a techno tune.
Strobe lights slice through the smoke and chatter.
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.
Place is zooming, Matt.
Matt is preoccupied; shades cover his eyes.
C'mon buddy. It's a par-tay.
Wonder why they wanted to meet here.
Because HE owns it.
Don't say. How you know that?
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.
Wow! Now there's a witness I'd like
to cross examine. Go mama!
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.
My future ex-wife. Mama mia.
She's something out of this world.
Reminds me of that old girl of
yours from college, Elek....
Whoops--sorry. Extract foot from mouth.
Just the mere mention of the name strikes deep.
(voice at a whisper)
Foggy unsure what to say next.
Turns back to the dance floor.
Man--look at the moves!
Why don't we--Matt?
Before he can finish, Matt is gone. Looks around.
Spies Matt downstairs--moving through the crowd.
Geez Matt--you're going to get hurt
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.
Looks like you'se took a wrong turn.
Matt turns to the voice. Faced with four HOODS.
Sorry. I was just looking for a woman.
Shee-hit! Ain't we all, my man.
Scoping out Matt's Armani suit.
Digging them fine threads.
Switchblade ejects from its housing.
Don't make me cut you out of it.
I don't want any trouble.
Well cuzzz...trouble has found you.
Beer bottle comes down onto Matt's back.
Matt raises his cane over his head.
Same motion. Kicks knife from other hood's hand.
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.
Matt--Matt! You okay?
Picking up his walking stick; calm.
Must have taken wrong turn to the
Staring at four battered hoods on ground.
You--you sure you're all right?
Don't we still have a meeting?
Scratches his head; still can't believe his eyes.
...yeah, suppose we....
INT. SUBWAY PLATFORM - EARLY NEXT DAY
Crime scene. Police pull two body bags from tracks.
INSPECTOR talks to another PATROLMAN.
Where'd you say they were found?
About quarter mile down. Bloody mess
Unzips one of the bags. Looks at the entry wound.
Three holes in a row--center one is the deepest.
Damn ginsu knife.
BEN URICH (45, pale, could be "Colombo's" twin).
No--no. No press.
Ben inspects body.
You determine the cause of death?
Definitely a knife wound.
Zips the bag--turns to Ben
Ben, you deaf? I said no--
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.
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?
...you talkin' to me? Talkin' to me?
Bullseye finds himself mesmerized by the images.
...you talkin' to me?
MAN, burly weightlifter, walks by Bullseye.
...you talkin' to me?
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.
Hot Dog VENDOR abandons his cart; joins the fray.
Vendor swings a nightstick at Bullseye.
flips vendor into the storefront window.
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.
...You talkin' to me? Well, I'm
the only one here.
...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.
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.
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