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TRANSCRIPT:
NB - The curly parentheses {} represent Michael's voiceovers.
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[Opening Montage.]


[Michael stands on the pavement in Warri, Nigeria, in the hot sun.]

{My name is Michael Westen.}

[He cocks a gun in the restroom.]
[He runs.]
[He's on a bike, pursued by guys firing at him from a sedan.]

{I used to be a spy until...}

[He listens in barely-concealed shock to the man on the phone.]
MAN: [from phone] We got a burn notice on you. You're blacklisted.


[Dressed as a messenger, he whistles.]
[As he walks down a street, he grimaces in pain (due to a couple of broken ribs).]

{When you're burned, you've got nothing.}

[Shot of his accounts statement on the computer ("Accounts Frozen"). He checks his cell phone as e gets off a bus.]

{No cash, no credit, no job history.}

[He manages to pull himself onto a plane. The plane takes off.]
[In a Miami motel room, he sits up groggily in bed, shirtless, while Fiona Glenanne sits nearby.]

{You're stuck in whatever city they decide to dump you in.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: Where am I?
FIONA GLENANNE: Miami.

[Shot of Miami Beaches.]
[At night, in his loft, he assembles a fake bomb.]
[He leans back and nearly falls off a small chair.]
[A car blows up in the night.]
[He and Sam Axe stand in front of a car.]
[He takes pictures from inside his car.]
[He laughs.]

{You do whatever work comes your way. You rely on anyone who's still talking to you...}

[Fiona cocks a SPAS-12 shotgun inside Sam's car.]
[She kisses Michael outside his loft.]

{A trigger-happy ex-girlfriend.}

[He and Fiona have dinner in a Chinese Restaurant.]
FIONA GLENANNE: Should we shoot them?

[Sam smiles at Michael as he suns himself.]
[Sam walks, wearing sunglasses.]
[He holds a tape recorder to the phone.]

{A friend who's informing on you to the Feds.}

[He and Axe Sam talk in a café.]
SAM AXE: You know spies. Bunch of bitchy little girls.

{And family, too.}

[Michael looks at his ringing cell phone, as Sam sits behind.]
SAM AXE: Hey, is that your mom again?
[Michael hangs up.]
[His mom, Madeline, smiles.]

{... if you're desperate.}

[At home, Madeline speaks to Michael.]
MADELINE WESTEN: Someone needs your help, Michael.

[Michael exits a mansion.]

{Bottom line - until you figure out who burned you...

[He looks through a cracked glass.]
[He moves out-of-sight behind a wall.]

{... you're not going anywhere.}




CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Michael stands in the bar, looking around. Someone walks towards him.]

{For anyone who works in covert ops, names have a special power.}

[Michael looks at the ID, which Fiona swiped (previous episode).]

{Knowing someone's real name, who they work for, you've got something on them. Out a spy in the field, and you can get him killed.}

[The government agent, sent to make Michael's life difficult, walks into view.]

{Out a bureaucrat in a restaurant...}

[Michael holds up the agent's CSS ID and addresses him as he passes.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Jason? Jason Bly?

{... and you'll just piss him off.}

[Bly turns to Michael. Michael waves the ID in front of him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Good to see you. I figured you'd find me sooner or later. [proclaiming loudly] Everyone! Everyone! This is officer Jason Bly of the CSS.

[Bly waves to the curious people obligingly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: It is a branch of the NSA, performing covert intelligence support for the military.

JASON BLY: All right, that's enough.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You think so? I was gonna go into the history of the service a little, give people some background.

[Bly snatches back his ID.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Not a bad picture. I take terrible photo ID's. One of the reasons why I never worked for any service branch directly. [sips his drink]

JASON BLY: [chuckling] I suppose you think that you're gonna be able to leverage stealing my agency ID card into a ticket off the blacklist?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, I never really thought about it. I just wanted to get to know you better.

JASON BLY: Well, I've been getting to know you, uh, and your friends - Sam Axe, Fiona Glenanne,... your mother.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, Bly, I thought I told you. This is just between you and me.

JASON BLY: [shaking his head] See, I don't think so. Adjusting to your circumstances is a process. It's natural for there to be some grieving, some anger, some... denial. Involving your friends and family's an important part of adjusting. For example, your girlfriend, Fiona...

[Michael laughs loudly, then stops abruptly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [poker-faced, shaking his head] She's not my girlfriend.

JASON BLY: Yeah. Yeah, I know. On again, off again. That is a complicated relationship, man. I've been listening to the surveillance tapes. Y'know, I think... well, I think both of you have issues.

MICHAEL WESTEN: One man's opinion.

JASON BLY: That's true. She is coming here to meet you, isn't she? I mean, if my information's correct, she... [looking towards the street] should be here shortly.

[Sure enough, Fiona pulls up in a car.]

JASON BLY: Oh, hey. There she is. [quietly to Mike] Mike, she is a really fine-looking girl.

[He looks back at her, as she applies lipstick.]

JASON BLY: She does take risks, though, doesn't she? That car was stolen three weeks ago. Have you looked inside the trunk? Seems that she's been doing some gun dealing.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah. She can take care of herself.

JASON BLY: [smiling, shaking his head] No, you should talk to her. You should talk to her, because if she gets caught, you may never be able to resolve those thorny, y'know, relationship issues.

[Suddenly, police sirens are heard. Michael knows this is bad news.]

JASON BLY: Ohhh. You should get going.

[Michael tarries a bit, looking stonily at Bly.]

JASON BLY: Hey, I'll get the check.

[Michael dons his "Victory" sunglasses and grabs a napkin off a table and starts to run towards Fiona's car. Bly watches him go. Michael runs across the street, into the path of a car. Sliding off its hood, he reaches Fiona's stolen Chevy.]

DRIVER: You crazy?!!

[The napkin wrapped around his hand, Michael opens the passenger door and jumps inside, surprising Fiona a little.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [urgently] Go. Go!

[Fiona doesn't argue. Putting the car into gear, she floors it and they hightail it out of there.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Michael, what?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Bly set you up.

[They start to drive quickly along the road. We see the Chevy has no licence-plates. Michael looks back at the pursuing police cruiser, its sirens blaring.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: D'you have guns in the trunk?

[Fiona drives silently, a shifty look on her face.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fi?

FIONA GLENANNE: A few semiautomatics, yeah.

[Michael pounds the dashboard in frustration.]

FIONA GLENANNE: I got a deal, Michael. This guy was selling browning .9 millimeters for two hundred bucks apiece.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You have unregistered weapons in a stolen car. [admonishing] Fi!

FIONA GLENANNE: Y'know, you have always had a problem with my work. I have always supported you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm helping people, you're running guns! Big difference.

[The cruiser's hot on their tail.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Is the car at least clean?

[She holds up her gloved hand.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [placated] Good.

[They turn into an alley suddenly. The cruiser doesn't manage to turn in time and stops abruptly. They race down the alleyway. Michael turns and sees the cruiser reverse and enter the alleyway.]

{The longer you run from the police, the more certain you are to get caught.}

[They make a hard right into a narrow passage. The cruiser continues along the alleyway, ignorant of their sudden detour. After it passes, Fiona drives out of the passage and goes the other direction.]

{There's a small window of time after a chase begins before backup arrives, before helicopters are deployed.}

[The officer in pursuit, wising up to the ruse, starts to turn the car around. He follows them.]

{If you want any chance of getting away, you'd best use this time to find someplace secluded...}

MICHAEL WESTEN: [pointing] Here, here.

[Fiona swerves into a parking garage. They slam past the security arm and zoom up the ramp. Fiona finally swerves to a stop at a higher level.]

{... and bail out.}

FIONA GLENANNE: See you back at the loft?

[Michael nods and gets out. The sirens are getting closer. Michael jumps over a wall, while Fiona takes the stairs. The officer pulls up and gets on the radio, informing Dispatch about the two suspects on foot. Michael sprints away.]


CUT TO:

[Opening Title.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Evening/Night.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Fiona stands upstairs, on the phone, when Michael enters.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [into phone] Oh, here he is now. I'll talk to you later.

[Hanging up, she starts to descend the stairs.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Your mom says "hi".

MICHAEL WESTEN: How did you get here so fast?

FIONA GLENANNE: Oh, I got a ride from a pleasant retired gentleman named Hubert. He was concerned for my safety. Let me get this straight. I was set up by Bly? Revenge for stealing his wallet?

[She goes over to the fridge.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: He wasn't gonna send you to jail. That'd be too much paperwork for him. He knew I'd save you.

[He comes over to the fridge as well. She ducks under his arm, holding a tub of yogurt.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Save me? I don't need saving.

MICHAEL WESTEN: The point is, it was a message for me to shut up and accept that I've been burned for good or my friends and family are fair game.

FIONA GLENANNE: [mouth full of yogurt] I see. Just curious, which am I?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Can we discuss this later?

FIONA GLENANNE: So once Bly gets taken care of, we can discuss us?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [beat] Sure.

FIONA GLENANNE: I don't suppose killing him would expedite that?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, Fi, no.

[Naturally, she's disappointed.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: He's the best connection I have. He can tell me why I was burned, who did this to me. I need to get some leverage. If I gotta go to war with Bly, I gotta put some cash together.


CUT TO:

[Little Havana. Day. A flag of Cuba flutters in the wind. A wall with the map of Cuba sculpted on it. A memorial to the martyrs of the Bay of Pigs. Kids play water games in the street. Street vendors sell fruit. People haggle with the sellers. A ice-cream seller cycles by. A bodega.]


CUT TO:

[Paseo Bodega. Day. The owner, a "more-resolve-than-muscle" Cuban-American, shuts the door and locks it. He approaches Michael, who stands inside.]

BODEGA OWNER: These guys come down and, uh, make me give them money...

[He is...]
ERNIE PASEO
THE CLIENT

ERNIE PASEO: ... every couple of days.

[He goes behind the counter, while Michael looks up the place.]

ERNIE PASEO: At first, they said it was for protection. Now they don't even bother to lie. They work for this bruja, Concha Ramirez. She got guys all 'round here.

MICHAEL WESTEN: A woman boss. How progressive.

ERNIE PASEO: Listen, pretty soon, I can't be in business no more. Talked to my friend Javier. You helped him with that cabron...

[Michael lower-lip-pouts, feigning ignorance.]

ERNIE PASEO: ... that came after his kid.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And asked him not to talk about it, yeah. Uh, what exactly are you looking for?

ERNIE PASEO: I got twenty grand. I want them out of the neighborhood. No, I want them gone.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, these guys work for this woman, Concha. Sounds like an organization. It might be tough.

ERNIE PASEO: Javier said you could handle that.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Aw, I'm flattered, but...

ERNIE PASEO: They're ruining the neighborhood, okay? People who lived on this block their whole lives are losing everything. My pops built this place. I ain't givin' up without a fight.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Have you tried talking to the police?

ERNIE PASEO: They come, give me paperwork, and go back to Coral Gables. I try to get the neighborhood to fight back, but they're scared, man. We got families. I need your help.

[Ernie ducks under the counter to get something. He emerges with a paper bag, containing a large wad of cash. He puts it on the counter and slides it to Michael.]

ERNIE PASEO: Ten grand now, the rest after.

[Michael opens the bag and looks inside. He lets out a whistle (without puckering his lips).]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'll see what I can do.

ERNIE PASEO: No. Don't "I'll see what I can do", do it. You're the last chance we got.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [nods] Okay.

[No pressure. Michael takes the money bag and starts to walk out, deep in thought. He stops at a hat-rack and picks up a hat. He holds it up to Ernie, who nods his approval. Michael puts on the hat and leaves.]]


[As Michael walks along the pavement, his phone rings. He answers it.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, Sam?


INTERCUT TO:

[Veronica's Apartment. Day. Sam hurries out onto the balcony, quickly sliding the door shut. He's obviously in some kind of trouble. He speaks to Michael.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] Hey, Mike. We got a situation here.

[The "situation" is a pissed-off lady friend. In the apartment, Veronica runs up angrily to the balcony door.]

SAM AXE: Looks like your buddy Bly talked to my girlfriend, and she's pissed.

[Veronica tries to slide open the door, but Sam holds it tightly.]

SAM AXE: [large smile to Ronnie] Hi, honey. [into phone] Yeah, she hit me with a - what do you call it? - one of those meat tenderizers.

[Veronica pounds the balcony door.]

VERONICA: [shrieking] Sam, get in here!

SAM AXE: Okay, honey. Just a minute.

[Michael buys an ice cream from the vendor.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Well, do you want me to send an extraction team?

SAM AXE: [from phone] I'll let you know. Now look, what about do you do about Bly? The son of a bitch is doing a scorched-earth number here.

[Veronica kicks the balcony door in frustration and moves away.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] I'm taking care of it. See if you can get out in one piece.

SAM AXE: [into phone, not counting on it] Yeah.

[He hangs up and slids the door open. He enters the apartment.]

SAM AXE: Sweetie, hey. Easy now. Come on.

VERONICA: [mad] A CIA agent came into my home!

SAM AXE: Look, it wasn't CIA, it was CSS. It's a branch of the National Security Agency.

VERONICA: He told me you were seeing that whore in Bal Harbour!

SAM AXE: I was just going to get my clothes. It's over, pumpkin.

[She doesn't buy it. Grabbing a glass vase, she chucks it at Sam. Sam ducks in time. The vase shatters against the balcony door. Sam looks at the unscathed glass door.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Fiona and Sam sit at an outdoor table. Mike walks up, still wearing the hat.]

SAM AXE: Mike, this is some serious collateral damage. I mean, I like this girl. We gotta do something.

[Taking off the hat, Michael sits at the table. He puts the paper bag on the table.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I know, I know. I think this will be enough cash take care of Bly, maybe even find out why I was burned.

[Sam looks inside the bag.]

SAM AXE: What, are you gonna throw money at him?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Something like that. I'll work out the details.

FIONA GLENANNE: You know anything about this gang?

MICHAEL WESTEN: They work for a Cuban émigré named Concha Ramirez. She works out of a restaurant on Miami Beach.

SAM AXE: [squirming] Oh, I don't know. Organized crime is a pain in the ass. There's a reason I didn't become a Fed.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We just need them to decide the neighborhood's not worth the trouble and... move on.

FIONA GLENANNE: [interested] Scare the hell out of them.

[Michael gives her a "you-got-it" finger-point.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [excited, girlishly] Sounds like fun.

[Sam, hardly enthused, swigs his beer.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Let's do the recon, check out her soldiers, take a look at Concha, and see what we're dealing with.

[Michael picks up the bag and takes out a handful of bills. Peeling some bills out, he holds them out to Sam.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Here you go, Sam. Buy your girlfriend some flowers.

SAM AXE: [laughs] Mike, it's gonna take more than flowers. I mean, she's pretty pissed.

[Mike peels some more bills out and holds it out to Sam.]

SAM AXE: This Bly was rude, I mean, really rude.

[Fiona looks at Sam in amused disbelief. More cash out of the wad for Sam.]

SAM AXE: She's feeling a little better now.

[Michael has enough. He drops whatever's in his hand onto the table.]

SAM AXE: Okay, perfect. Thank you.

[Fiona gives him a catty look, as he picks up the cash.]

SAM AXE: [chuckles] I'll get the check.


FADE TO:

[Little Havana, street outside Concha's restaurant. Day. A couple of Concha's thugs get out of a car and walk over to the restaurant. In a car not too far away, Sam peers watches one thug walk into the restaurant, through binoculars. Fiona sits next to him, wearing her huge sunglasses.]

FIONA GLENANNE: When you gonna get a real car? This thing's like a toy.

SAM AXE: Hey, Veronica was gonna get me a Cadillac until Mike's surveillance guy screwed everything up.

FIONA GLENANNE: [surprised] A Cadillac?

[She lifts her sunglasses over her forehead and looks at him, nonplussed.]

FIONA GLENANNE: What could you possibly be doing to these women?

SAM AXE: [dryly] Wouldn't you like to know?

[Fiona puts her sunglasses back on, as Sam scopes out the street, just in time to see a tall, sexy Latina walk confidently out, following the thug.]

SAM AXE: [whistles] There she is.

[The Latina is...]
CONCHA RAMIREZ
CRIME BOSS

[Fiona takes a picture.]

SAM AXE: Wow. Not bad for a crime boss.

[As Concha walks towards the thugs' car, Fiona clicks away. The other thug opens the door. A scared elderly man sits inside. The first thug speaks to Concha in Spanish.]

THUG #1:

CONCHA RAMIREZ:

[The "extortee" looks even more scared on hearing her words. Concha places her hand on the thug's concealed gun, shoved into his pants.]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: I give you a gun... use it.>

[Barking a command in Spanish to him, she walks off. The thug, upset at the rebuke, turns to the "extortee".]

THUG #1: Get in there.

[The thugs and the "extortee" get in the car.]


CUT TO:

[Little Havana. Day. A roadside restaurant. Kids play water-games in the street. Two of Diego's thugs walk up to a guy.]

{In intelligence work, surveillance is called "coverage". It's like basketball. You can run zone defense or man-to-man.}

[Grudgingly collecting their less-than-expected "fee" from the apologetic guy, they walk elsewhere. Fiona stands in the background, watching unobtrusively.]

{Man-to-man's risky. Follow someone too long, they're going to get suspicious. Zone is usually the way to go. Stay put and let targets come to you.}

[The thugs cross the street and walk past the roadside café, where Sam sits at a table.]

{Less obvious, easier on the feet...}

[The thugs strong-arm a store-owner to cough up. Michael, wearing his hat, sits close by, reading "Soap Opera Secrets".]

{And you can catch up on your celebrity gossip.}

[He looks up at the thugs, who walk past Sam (who keeps a low profile) and strong-arm the café owner. The poor guy pulls out some cash and starts to peel off some bills, but a thug grabs all of it. They run across the street to a car, where a grouchy, elderly guy sits in the driver's seat. A thug seems pretty pleased with the day's "earnings" as he displays it to the older guy, who doesn't share his enthusiasm and tells him not to flash the money all around. The older guy is...]
DIEGO CRUZ
ASSISTANT CRIME BOSS

[Michael yawns out loud, watching the thugs get into the car. Across the road, Fiona keeps leaning on the streetlight-pole. Sam sits at his table. Michael gets up and walks off.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael pours himself a drink as he speaks to Fiona, who looks at the pictures taken during their surveillance.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: They're leaning hard on the neighborhood. Bad business, driving away people who are paying you off.

FIONA GLENANNE: So they're amateurs. That'll make it easier to get rid of them.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm not sure it was a good idea to give Sam the café. Three Cuban coffees in, his camerawork gets kind of jittery.

[He looks at some slightly-blurred pictures.]

FIONA GLENANNE: It's not the coffee. He has lady-friend problems. You know, I have to say, Sam's romantic side is surprising.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Not now, Fi.

FIONA GLENANNE: I'm talking about Sam.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And you're going to use Sam as a way to talk about us.

[Fiona opens her mouth in a big "O" to protest, but Michael cuts her off.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: After.

[She shuts her mouth, her teeth clicking as they bump together.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: All right?

FIONA GLENANNE: [slightly disappointed] All right. But I promise you, if I'm not satisfied, then I am gonna kick your ass.

[Michael looks at her. She smile sweetly at him, meaning every word of that threat.]


CUT TO:

[Little Havana/Paseo Bodega. Day. A sign saying, "Welcome to: Calle Ocho - Kiwanis of Little Havana". Old guys play dominoes. Michael walks towards Ernie's bodega, wearing a black, sleeveless biker's jacket and brandishing a metal baseball bat, twirling it around. Mild-mannered Michael Westen is now "Tough Guy Mike".]

{Explaining the rules of covert ops is always a challenge.}

[He throws an intimidating look at a passer-by.]

{It's a world where good guys look like bad guys and two wrongs do, in fact, make a right.}

[He yanks open the bodega door and stalks inside.]

[Inside, Ernie turns to see Michael. Michael closes the door and exhales through his mouth loudly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I gotta bust up your counter.

ERNIE PASEO: [say what?] You want to smash up my counter?

MICHAEL WESTEN: And a few other things. It's part of the plan, Ernie.

ERNIE PASEO: [protesting loudly] No, no, no, no, I already got enough people who want to smash up my place. I don't need anymore.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Ernie, the only way this ends is if these guys think they're up against somebody worse than they are.

ERNIE PASEO: I thought you were supposed to protect the neighborhood. Like, guard the place or...

MICHAEL WESTEN: If I act like a security guard, they're just gonna send more guys.

ERNIE PASEO: Yeah, my friend said you could fight. He said you were, y'know, special forces.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [arguing] Bullets don't bounce off my skin, Ernie! I'm gonna solve this, but I got to do it my way. And, Ernie, Ernie, look. I need your help.

ERNIE PASEO: What do you want me to do?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sighs] I need you to spread the word that some serious psycho robbed your place. And please, please, keep your mouth shut about hiring me, or you'll get us both killed, you understand?

[Ernie says nothing, but his body language gives grudging consent.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: There's no turning back, Ernie, after I do this. If you wanna walk away, now's the time.

ERNIE PASEO: I don't walk away. Do it.

["Tough Guy Mike" needs no further clarification. As Ernie backs away, he brings the baseball bat down hard on the glass counter, smashing it completely. Ernie winces at the damage. The glass broken, Mike belts up the wooden sides as well. He turns his attention to the beef jerky and burgers and hotdogs on the next counter. He kicks over a stand, which knocks over another stand. Ernie wonders whether Mike will stop anytime soon. Mike is about to lay into the flower display, but thinks it better to just push it over and mess it up on the ground. Ernie rolls his eyes at the "mercy" shown to the flowers. Finally, Mike is done.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: All right, call the cops in five minutes.

ERNIE PASEO: So, my job is to say that a psycho robbed my store. What's your job?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I get to be the psycho. [smiling devilishly] Trust me, that's the hard part.

[Bumping open the door, he jumps outside, yelling maniacally. Ernie closes his eyes and shakes his head.]


FADE TO:

[Little Havana, outside warehouse. Day. Two of Diego's thugs mess up the owner's desk, as part of the shakedown assignment for the day. "Tough Guy Mike" leans against their car and grooves silently. Getting the money, the thugs run towards their car.]

{As cover ID's go, I prefer rich businessman or international playboy to crazy thief.}

[The thugs are...]
OSCAR & LUIS
DIEGO'S THUGS

{But if the situation calls for it, you do what you have to do.}

[Michael stays where he is, the baseball bat near his feet. Oscar, the lead thug, sees Michael shakin' his body to some silent music and turns to Luis.]

OSCAR: What's this dude doing on my car?

[Oscar and Luis walk up menacingly to Mike. Mike looks at them.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [like giving instructions] Oh, boys, boys, boys. You need to do me a favor. 'S nothing personal, but you need to leave the neighborhood.

OSCAR: [snorts] Yeah, why's that?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Because it's mi-i-i-ine!

[Mike smiles stupidly at the two thugs. Oscar loses his patience and advances on Mike, trying to grab him, but Mike's too fast for him. A deft parry and a hard right hook to the guy's jaw put him off his game. Wrenching his hand off his left arm, Mike twists it to the right with a lot of force (a crack is heard). Luis, obviously not too bright, takes all of five seconds to see his buddy in trouble and moves forward. Mike sees him coming and brings up the baseball bat and connects with his ribs. The dim thug doubles over in pain. Delivering a hard kick to Oscar's butt, Mike turns to Luis and beans him across the back with the bat. The two thugs now out of commission, Michael swings the bat like hitting a home run.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: And they're out of he-e-e-ere!

[Dropping the bat after the swing, he walks off, leaving the two thugs moaning in pain on the ground.]


CUT TO:

[Little Havana, street outside Concha's restaurant. Day. Oscar and Luis painfully get out of the car. Diego, none too happy to see his boys looking like they've survived being hit by a truck, strides up to them, yelling in Spanish.]

DIEGO CRUZ:

OSCAR: I Don't know. There was a crazy man.>

[Sam and Fiona watch from inside their car. Oscar limps over to Diego, while Luis nurses the back of his neck.]

DIEGO CRUZ: Get inside. Concha wants to talk to you.>

[The two thugs follow him inside. Fiona calls Michael.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [into phone] They made it back... barely. Nice work. I'd say eight-point-five for style. Maybe nine for execution.

[Sam checks his phone for messages and shuts it, disappointed.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Quite a compliment. Keep an eye out. See what moves they make. They'll be back soon enough.

[She hangs up.]

FIONA GLENANNE: We get to babysit bad guys for a while.

[Sam checks his messages again.]

FIONA GLENANNE: You've been checking that thing all day. You expecting a call?

SAM AXE: [quickly] No. [relents] Well, the... the lady friend.

FIONA GLENANNE: You send her flowers?

SAM AXE: [testily] Yes, I sent her flowers. Why do you think I'm checking my phone?

FIONA GLENANNE: What did the card say?

SAM AXE: [exhales in annoyance] It said, "I'm sorry. Call me."

FIONA GLENANNE: She doesn't need, "I'm sorry". She needs to know who you are, where she stands. [uh-oh, sounding familiar] I would imagine.

[A silent beat, as Sam considers the advice.]

SAM AXE: All right, well, let's say I sent her a second card. What would it say?


CUT TO:

[Outside Michael's Loft. Day. Michael bangs open the metal door and stand there.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Jason Bly. Always a pleasure.

[Bly sits on the stairs leading to Michael's loft.]

JASON BLY: Nice job ditching the police the other day. I knew you'd do it, of course, but you always manage those things with such style. Maybe it's the sunglasses. Where did you get them?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, an Algerian special-ops guy I tangled with a while back. He didn't need them anymore. [taking off the sunglasses] Y'know, I'd be willing to part with them if you'd be willing to tell me why I got burned.

JASON BLY: Tempting, but that's classified.

[Michael cocks his head, expecting no other answer. Bly stands.]

JASON BLY: No, I just came by to see if you'd reconsidered your position at all. [holding up a file] I've been reading up on your exploits. You are a man of many talents.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nice to be appreciated.

[Michael starts to climb the stairs, while Bly walks down.]

JASON BLY: [stops descending] My hope... my commitment, really, is that you'll find a new outlet for your skills here in Miami, a new outlet that involves you settling down and no longer making problems for the intelligence community.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I see. You got any ideas?

[With Bly blocking his way, Michael stops.]

JASON BLY: Well, I realize that you probably don't have much in the way of job references from your times in Afghanistan or the former Soviet Republics, so I am prepared to offer you full-time employment - papers and references. [emphatically] You'll start as a security guard at a bank! And who knows where things might go from there?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [mock interest, clenched teeth] Really? A security guard?

JASON BLY: A new life as a private citizen. A spook no more.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [climbing past Bly] I'll think about it.

JASON BLY: You do that. I'll be in touch.

[Descending the stairs, Bly departs. Michael looks back at his nemesis and pulls out his cell phone. He hits speed dial.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Barry, it's Michael. We need to meet.


CUT TO:

[Outside New World Symphony. Day. Michael and a shorter, tubby guy (with a snazzy haircut and French beard) walk together.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I want you to set up a business for a friend of mine. A government worker, name's Jason Bly, B-L-Y.

MONEY LAUNDERER: What kind of business you have in mind for your friend?

[He is...]
BARRY
MONEY LAUNDERER

MICHAEL WESTEN: Let's keep it vague. I supply the cash, but I need you to set it up. He'll need some bank accounts, an offshore corporation or two. He'll need to make some purchases.

BARRY: Your friend gonna know about this business?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'd like it to be a surprise.

BARRY: [smirks] So, I help you set up this schmuck Bly. I just wanna know, what's in it for me?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Thirty percent commission, and I'll owe you one.

BARRY: [whining] Ohh, three grand? Come o-o-on. [sighs] I'll do it, but you'll owe me big.

[Clapping Barry on the shoulder, Michael starts to walk off as he speaks.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You know I'm good for it.


CUT TO:

[Outside Cathedral. Day. Michael and Ernie walk under an aisle, discussing the case.]

ERNIE PASEO: [complaining] How do you think I feel? This is crazy. I gave you all this money, and I don't even see you around my store...

MICHAEL WESTEN: As far they're concerned, I'm a criminal terrorizing their neighborhood. How's it gonna look if we're seen together?

[Ernie stops walking.]

ERNIE PASEO: They came back, you know? More of them this time. They hit a couple of places down the block.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Of course they did. They're not gonna leave your neighborhood alone just because a couple of guys got beat up. It's a business, Ernie. They're making money.

ERNIE PASEO: [frustrated] So when are they gonna leave the neighborhood?

MICHAEL WESTEN: When I make it clear to them that the cost of doing business in your neighborhood will be unacceptably high.

ERNIE PASEO: That better be soon.

[Ernie leaves.]


CUT TO:

[Little Havana. Day. Shots of the neighborhood. A car pulls into a narrow alleyway, behind a store. Four of Concha's thugs sit inside.]

THUG #2: Vamos.

{The term "shock and awe" gets misused a lot these days.}

[They pull up to a chain-link fence, which blocks their way, blissfully ignorant of "Tough Guy Mike" crouching behind a large Dumpster at the side of the alleyway.]

{It's a popular name for a military tactic known as rapid dominance.}

[The bliss lasts only a second, as Mike pushes the Dumpster into the car door, just as the thug starts to open it. The heavy Dumpster slams into the door, preventing it from opening. The thugs inside react in shock. The car is parked closed to the other side. Effectively, the thugs are trapped inside. Mike wedges a two-by-four under the Dumpster, keeping it in place. That done, he places a couple of paint thinner cans on Dumpster. Picking up a power drill, he gets on top of the hood.]

{Whether you do it with a thousand-pound bomb or with a can of turpentine and a power drill, it's all about being spectacular.}

[The thugs inside wonder what this psycho gringo is up to. Holding the power drill, he drills a hole into the hood, near the windshield. Sparks fly as he bores inside.]

{Kill the electronic brain of any late-model car, and it's dead - won't start, windows won't open.}

[He jumps on top of the car. The terrified driver tries to start the car, as his equally-terrified passengers scramble and scream at him.]

DRIVER THUG: It won't start! The windows won't open!>

{Then you can pretty much do whatever you want.}

[And Mike does. He drills a hole into the top of the car. The petrified thugs duck for cover as the long drill bit bores through the car ceiling. He drills a couple more holes. A thug narrowly misses getting a new hole drilled into his head, as he ducks.]

THUG #3:

[Mike places the drill on the Dumpster and picks up the paint thinner cans. Holding them upside down, he lets the contents of the cans fall over the top of the car and, thanks to the new holes, into the car as well. The thugs' terror increases as the liquid falls inside and on them. Obviously, they recognize the smell. The driver bangs helplessly on the ceiling. After emptying the cans on the car, Mike gets off the car. The front passenger cocks a gun, but the driver knows the dangers of firing a gun in a turpentine-drenched car.]

DRIVER THUG: No, no, no!

[Mike holds a can in one hand and, with a flourish, flicks open a cigarette lighter with the other.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [yelling] Highly flammable! You shoot me, you set yourself on fire! But that won't kill you. The fire will suck the oxygen out, and you'll suffocate! Then you'll burn, but first you'll suffocate to death! Fascinating, isn't it? Gimme the money!

[Despite their fear, the thugs hesitate.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding up the can and lighter menacingly] Gimme the money!

[The frightened thugs scramble to empty out their pockets.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Now! Let's go! Rapido! Move it!

[They hand it to the driver, who passes it to Mike. Having collected the dough, Mike decides to ram home the point.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: This neighborhood is mine! You hear me?

[He jumps on top of the car again and starts to jump psychotically on it, causing the ceiling to cave in over the horrified thugs.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [screaming] My neighborhood! My neighborhood! This neighborhood is mi-i-ine!

THUG #3: [timidly] It's all yours.

[Jumping off the car, he runs off.]

{Piss off a criminal organization and you could end up dead.}

[As he walks past a corner, the cocking of a gun is heard and Diego grabs Mike, holding a gun at him.]

DIEGO CRUZ: You're pretty slick, huh?

{But if they don't kill you, they've got plans for you.}

DIEGO CRUZ: [shoving Mike] Come on. Come with me. Go.

[As Diego holds the gun to Mike's back, forcing him to walk, Mike smiles triumphantly.]


CUT TO:

[Concha's Restaurant. Day.]

{There's no substitute for improvisation. Even the best plans can't anticipate everything.}

[Inside the restaurant office, Concha's thugs tune up Mike, as Concha watches.]

{You better be able to roll with the punches.}

[Wham! He takes on to the jaw. He drops to his hands and knees.]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: [going to a table] Get him up. Bring him here.

[The thugs yank Mike to his feet and dump his butt on a chair, as Diego watches. Concha pours him a drink.]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: My name is Consuela. They call me Concha.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [murmuring] Nice to meet you, Consuela.

DIEGO CRUZ: Shut up.

CONCHA RAMIREZ: Diego, por favor. [to Mike] That bodega that you robbed. You know, that guy, the owner, he gives us a lot of trouble.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [picking up a glass] Doesn't seem so tough to me.

CONCHA RAMIREZ: You could have saved us a lot of trouble if you killed him, but you attack Luis, you attack Oscar, now everybody's talking about the crazy gringo. I think I have to meet you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [smiles] "Crazy"? I Like to think of myself as dedicated.

CONCHA RAMIREZ: [laughs] Si, but you have to understand something. This block, for me, is not about money from some small shops. Is about real estate, entiendes?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, you're buying it?

CONCHA RAMIREZ: Exactly, and when the business gets bad enough, they will sell to me.

[Diego doesn't seem too happy at her disclosing her business plan to Mike.]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: [running her stiletto close to Mike's crotch] You know, I thought about killing you, but then I think, "Oh, maybe no-no-no. Maybe I have this guy work for me."

MICHAEL WESTEN: [laughs] Work for you? The thing is, I'm not the employee type. Uh, I've had some problems in the past with some jobs, some unpleasantness, you know, water-cooler stuff, but... [trails off]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: Like I said, I am very determined. [an order] You will work for me.

[Mike stares at her.]


CUT TO:

[Little Havana. Day. Shots of the neighborhood. Sam sits at the café, reading a paper. Fiona drives by in Sam's car and parks opposite the pavement where Mike (now wearing a flowery Cuban shirt) sits on a shoe-shine chair, getting his shoes worked over.]

{They say you only get one chance to make a first impression with an employer. Doesn't matter if you're a store manager or a strong-arm guy, you have to put your best foot forward.}

[Diego stands near Mike.]

DIEGO CRUZ: We make collections every two or three days. Do about half the stores on the street. Next time, we do the others.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Where are your boys?

DIEGO CRUZ: They don't make collections around here no more, not with you anyway.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [laughs derisively] Tell them I said "hi".

[He gets off the chair.]

DIEGO CRUZ: Hey, you can do that psycho crap with Concha, but not with me, comprendes? And I don't want you pouring turpentine on nobody while we're working, you got that?

[Michael holds up his hands and gives Diego a "whatever" look. They start to walk.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: How's the real-estate business going?

DIEGO CRUZ: Eh, it's too complicated. I'm old-school. Used to be a bookie, worked down at jai alai, lent money, had my own crew. The guy I worked for, though, was into a lot of money with Concha. Crazy puta shot him right in front of his kids during a birthday party. But I needed to work, so I ended up with her.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [taunting] How's it working for a lady boss?

DIEGO CRUZ: [unfazed] Ahh, woman, man, I don't care, you know? I Just don't wanna be out in the street working at my age.

[They get a couple of small Cuban coffees from a roadside vendor, who pats Diego's hand familiarly.]

DIEGO CRUZ: This place, the guy's behind a little. Just have to push him a little bit. Not too much, though, you understand?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [swigs the coffee and throws away the cup] Not too much.

DIEGO CRUZ: He's an old man.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Okay, look, you want this neighborhood to go down fast, right? This nickel-and-dime stuff is gonna [gesturing impatiently] take forever!

{Any new employer is looking for the same things. Are you willing to go the extra mile? Can you take the initiative, impress them?}

[Michael looks across the street and sees Fiona sitting in the car.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You want this neighborhood to go downhill? I'll show you how to do it.

[Shoving a plastic chair out of his way, Mike strides over to the car, where Fiona sits.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [yelling] Hey, honey! Honey! Yeah, you! Get out of the car! Get out of the car!

[Pulling out his gun, he smashes the driver-side window. Sam lowers his sunglasses, wondering what Mike is up to.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [leveling the gun at Fiona] Get out! Gimme your bag!

[Fiona takes off her sunglasses and coldly stares at Michael, obviously unaware of how to act the helpless victim.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Gimme your money! Gimme your money! [leaning closer, whispering] Fi, sell it!

[Annoyed, Fiona tilts her head. And then... she lets rip one of the fakest terrified screams you'll ever hear (think of a B-movie actress screaming at the sight of a rubber-suit monster, and you'll get an idea). Mike opens the door. Fiona clutches her purse tightly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Gimme your bag!

[But she's not going down without a fight and she lets Mike know it, with four hard punches to his face, as he tries to grab her bag.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fi! Fi, gimme the... [clenching his teeth] gimme the bag, Fi. Let it go!

[She lets it go and Mike holds it up triumphantly for Diego. Fiona fumes, but closes her door.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: See, this is how you get a neighborhood.

[Diego grabs Mike and drags him away.]

DIEGO CRUZ: [in disbelief] Estan loco, hombre?

[Sam walks away from his table, in case Mike tries to stick him up as well.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: What? This is how you do it. You understand me?

DIEGO CRUZ: No, you don't do this.

[Pissed, Fiona drives off. Diego shoves Mike up against a wall.]

DIEGO CRUZ: [mad] What did I say, huh?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Whatever, I thought the point was...

DIEGO CRUZ: [angrily cuts him off] No, you start mugging people on the street, we're gonna have the cops down here!

MICHAEL WESTEN: [rummaging in Fiona's purse] I understand.

DIEGO CRUZ: Now we can't make no more collections today. [says something in Spanish]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding out some money scrounged up from Fiona's purse] Well, she's got a hundred bucks. Here, it's for you.

DIEGO CRUZ: [angrily slapping away the money to the ground] Bah! We gotta talk to Concha about this later.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Okay.

DIEGO CRUZ: You understand? Huh?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I do.

[Thumping his head, he rails to Mike in Spanish a little before walking off.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Okay. Buh-bye.

[Mike picks up Fiona's money and purse. Looking over his shoulder at Diego, he walks off in a different direction, smiling widely.]


FADE TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael (still wearing his flowery Cuban shirt) opens the door and enters. Guess who's waiting for him inside, reading a magazine.]

JASON BLY: Oh, you're home. Oh, Michael Westen, you look fabulous.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [walking to the kitchen] Good thing about being out of a job, I can dress how I like now.

JASON BLY: One of your little side projects. I don't wanna know. I hope you don't mind I let myself in.

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, no, no, make yourself comfortable. You want a yogurt or somethin'?

JASON BLY: Uh, I had one. Not bad.

[Having taken a yogurt from the fridge, Michael gets a spoon from a drawer and back-kicks it shut.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I don't want to sound inhospitable, but... don't you need a warrant to be in here? Aren't your superiors going to be a little concerned?

JASON BLY: We're a little past warrants, aren't we? I don't think you and I need to worry about official protocol at this point. You know, Westen, you're the one that made this personal.

[Michael walks over to the balcony and looks outside at the sporty red convertible parked outside.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You got a new rental car. [whistles]

JASON BLY: [enthusiastically, stands] Yeah, they upgraded me yesterday. Man, I have to say, Miami has treated me pretty well.

MICHAEL WESTEN: That makes one of us.

JASON BLY: Listen, I hope that you took my job offer seriously, because round one was just a warm-up. In round two, your brother lands in jail if he's not careful, and Fiona has some associates who are very interested to know where she is.

[Michael's calm demeanor vanishes.]

JASON BLY: Angry, angry people. What do you say?

[Michael puts down the yogurt, maintaining eye contact with Bly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [defeated] Leave 'em alone, Bly. I'll take the job.

JASON BLY: [nods] Good call. Good call. You're gonna love being a security guard. Oh, you get to brush up on your reading and, and... [chuckling] well, you get to brush up on your reading. All right, we'll talk soon.

[Bly leaves. Michael remains pensive.]


FADE TO:

[Concha's Restaurant. Day. Mike, Concha and Diego sit at a table. Mike explains to Concha about his daring daylight robbery the previous day.]

{In any new job, there's always friction with your co-workers. They're wondering if the boss likes the new guy better, if he's going to make them look bad. In some jobs, that can get you a dark look in the break room. In other jobs, that can get you a bullet in the head.}

[While Concha watches, smiling at Mike, Diego sits sulking.]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: I wish I could have seen it. You went right in the car, and you took her purse?

MICHAEL WESTEN: You shoulda seen her face when I opened the door. [mimics Fiona's scream]

DIEGO CRUZ: The cops came later and they were all over the street asking questions for hours, trying to find the lady.

CONCHA RAMIREZ: Well, you know, Diego's right, of course. Street crime like that can be very dangerous for us, but I appreciate your dedication.

DIEGO CRUZ: He can't go back there now. He can't make collections with cops asking everyone about him.

[Mike makes bored hand gestures, implying Diego talks too much.]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: Diego, da uno momento, por favor.

[A surly expression on his face, Diego pops a cherry into his mouth and stands. Mike flashes a grin at him as he leaves.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [eating a cherry] I don't think that guy likes me.

CONCHA RAMIREZ: He's old-fashioned, wants rules. He likes when people respect the rules.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And you?

CONCHA RAMIREZ: [standing] When the coast guard found me, I had nothing. Mira! I didn't build all of this... by following rules.

MICHAEL WESTEN: However you pull it off, sign me up.

CONCHA RAMIREZ: [sits close to him] I wanna talk to you about something. A special job. You know the bodega, the one that you robbed?

MICHAEL WESTEN: You want me to knock it off again? There's not much there.

CONCHA RAMIREZ: No, no, no, it's this man, the owner, Ernie Paseo. He makes lots of problems for us. He calls the cops, he talks to the neighbors, he meets with them. I hear he's thinking about getting outside security, too.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sounds like a problem.

CONCHA RAMIREZ: Hmm. A problem that I think I>you can make go away. He goes, the whole neighborhood goes with him in just a few months.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Kill him?

[She puts her hand on top of his.]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: Si. Maybe a fire.

[Mike smiles at her.]

CONCHA RAMIREZ: Do the whole family, because I don't want to deal with lawyers or inheritance.

[She smiles at Mike.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Beach. Day. Michael explains the situation to Ernie, as they walk towards the beach.]

ERNIE PASEO: [incredulous] She wants to kill me? I thought you were gonna make this better.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm working on it, Ernie.

ERNIE PASEO: She can kill my whole family?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, she's a shark, Ernie. She plans on killing me, too, if that makes you feel any better.

ERNIE PASEO: Can we call the police?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, I'm supposed to be a hitman. It's not like I can get them on tape, and the police won't be able to do anything, and Concha will come after both of us. Just trust me, you just need to get outta town, and I'll let you know when it's safe to come back.

ERNIE PASEO: Thirty years. The store's never been closed.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, then it's time for a vacation. Take your family. Go to Disneyworld. Just get outta town.

ERNIE PASEO: You can do this, right? I'm giving you everything, all my savings.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And I promise you, I'm earning every penny. I can do this. I just need you to trust me.

[After a slight hesitation, Ernie nods.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Michael and Fiona start work on a bomb. Michael works on the circuitry.]

{Military firebombs are typically white phosphorus or chlorine trifluoride. These are remarkably effective, but they're also unstable, lethally toxic, and hard to find at the grocery store.}

[Fiona works on the explosive.]

{The main ingredient in a homemade firebomb, on the other hand, is styrofoam. A military demolitions expert could put something together in a few hours. An IRA-trained guerilla can do it in twenty minutes... give or take.}

[She pours the liquid explosives into two metal cylinders and duct-tapes the cylinders together. Together, she and Michael wrap rubber tubing around the explosives, smiling at each other. Michael takes two pieces of duct tape. Putting one on an amused Fiona's face, he tapes the detonator to the rubber tubing. Pulling off the other piece off her face, he tapes it around the detonator, holding it in place. Fiona carefully places it into a small duffel bag, that Michael holds open.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: All right, Fi. I'm off.

FIONA GLENANNE: I'll talk to you later.

[He walks towards the door.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [turning to him] Be careful out there.

[He smiles at her and leaves.]


CUT TO:

[Outside Paseo Bodega. Day. Diego gets out of his car and Mike removes the deadly duffel bag from the trunk.]

DIEGO CRUZ: So, you do this, and you call me after, all right?

[They walk towards the bodega.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [testily] Yeah, I got it. I got it. I put the bomb down, it goes boom. Nice and easy.

DIEGO CRUZ: We meet later, I'll take you to Concha. Everything gonna be...

[They stop. The bodega's shutter is down.]

DIEGO CRUZ: Hell. Bodega's closed. It's never closed. Somebody told him.

[Behind him, Mike cocks his gun and holds it at Diego's head.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nobody told him.

DIEGO CRUZ: Then why isn't he...?

[Diego turns to see the gun in his face.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [apologetic] 'Cause you're the target, Diego, not Ernie. I'm sorry I got to do this. I talked to Concha. She told me to do it. It's nobody's fault. It's just times are changing, and you gotta go.

[Mike drags him towards the chain-link fence.]

DIEGO CRUZ: [chuckling] She told you to kill me?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah. She told me I could do it before or after Ernie. I figure it's just easier to do it now.

DIEGO CRUZ: [amused] I was supposed to kill you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [mock surprise, high-pitched] What?!

DIEGO CRUZ: [laughing] Supposed to kill you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [equally amused] That's what she... she told you?

DIEGO CRUZ: Yeah.

[Diego sniggers and Michael wheeze-laughs loudly. He jokingly holds the gun to Diego's face and doubles over in laughter.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [still laughing] 'Cause then... and then... and...

DIEGO CRUZ: Me and you. [laughing] Probably she'll do it later. That's how she does it, you know?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Ohh.

DIEGO CRUZ: She doesn't care about anybody. She did my own boss the same way. Listen to me, she'll do you, too.

[Mike stops acting and grabs Diego, holding the gun on him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Turn around. On your knees. On your knees!

[He shoves Diego to his knees.]

DIEGO CRUZ: Listen to me. Listen to me! Concha's crazy.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, no arguments here.

DIEGO CRUZ: [somberly] She's-she's killing people. Our people. It's got to stop. I should have stopped it a long time ago.

[Mike cocks the gun and presses it to the back of Diego's neck.]

DIEGO CRUZ: We shouldn't be here... doing these things. Maybe you're just a psycho. If that's true, then shoot me. Shoot me! But if not, let me finish this. I will deal with Concha. You walk away... I walk away. I walk away! Never see each other. The neighborhood is yours.

[A silent beat passes. Then...]

MICHAEL WESTEN: How would you do it?


FADE TO:

[Concha's House. Day. Outside, Diego walks purposefully towards the house, the duffel bag under his arm.]

{Being a spy, you have to get comfortable with the idea of people doing bad things for good reasons, doing good things for bad reasons.}

[Across the road, Michael (not Tough Guy Mike, this time) watches Diego. Diego enters the house. Michael watches grimly.]

{You do the best you can.}

[Diego places the bag near the door and runs outside. Inside, Concha, unaware of the danger she's in, sits bored. Standing, she walks to the window. Diego walks outside.]

[SPLIT-SCREEN: Left side, Concha peering outside. Right side, Diego giving her a final salute.]

[Laughing, Diego walks off. Concha turns in horrified realization. But it's too late. The bomb goes off, obliterating the house and everything inside. Michael watches from a distance. People scream and yell out, scrambling to escape the shrapnel. Diego walks slowly outside. Rubbing his hands together, he nods at Michael, who returns the nod. As people run, Michael walks calmly. Police sirens are heard in the background.]


CUT TO:

[Church. Day. The bell tolls as Ernie lights a candle near the altar. Michael walks inside. Ernie crosses himself and goes to sit in a pew, seeing Michael nodding at him. Michael looks at the giant cross and sits in the pew behind Ernie. Michael has Ernie's paper money bag with him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You can go back to your store. They're never gonna come to your neighborhood again.

[Ernie looks at Michael questioningly. Michael nods. Ernie pulls out another paper bag, filled with money, and holds it out to Michael.]

ERNIE PASEO: You can count it. It's all there.

[Michael pushes it away gently.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's all right. [holds out his paper bag] Actually, here.

[Ernie takes the bag, speechless.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's most of it back, less some expenses. I just needed a wad of cash to run through some bank accounts. It's, uh, complicated. I wasn't gonna take your life savings.

ERNIE PASEO: [grateful] I don't know what to say. I'm gonna tell the others so that they know what you did.

[As Ernie speaks, Michael shakes his head no.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, seriously, it ends here. For everyone's safety, you can never tell anyone, ever, about this. I'm just some crazy guy who robbed your store one day. And we can never meet again, you understand?

[Ernie nods. Michael holds his hand out. Ernie shakes it and then clasps it with both hands, forever grateful.]

ERNIE PASEO: [choked up] Thank you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [softly] I'm gonna go.

[Ernie nods. Clapping Ernie on the back, Michael gets up and leaves the church.]


CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Bly's shiny red convertible pulls up. Michael sits at a table, a morose expression on his face. Parking his car nearby, Bly walks briskly into the bar, carrying a folder. He approaches Michael.]

JASON BLY: [excited] The retirement luncheon for Michael Westen. [claps his hands] I love it. [leaning close to Michael] I shoulda brought you a gold watch.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [softly] Have a seat.

[Bly sits and drops the folder on the table.]

JASON BLY: I have your new life... right here.

[Michael picks up the folder and glances through it.]

JASON BLY: You'll start on the night shift. But if you're a good boy, you work hard, keep your nose clean, you will be the day security manager in a couple of years. And I think that there's a dental plan in there, too.

[Michael looks at him. Bly gives him a smug smile.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: This...is awkward. I've decided not to take the job.

[Michael drops the folder back on the table.]

JASON BLY: [laughs] Oh, Michael. I am down here on a government paycheck. The good citizens of this country are gonna continue to pay me to make your life miserable. [pushes the folder to Michael] I'm telling ya, take a look at this folder. Much easier for both of us.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Actually, I have an even bigger folder.

[Michael holds up an even bigger folder. He slaps it down on the table, next to Bly's arm. Bly seems confused.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You like to talk about our close, personal friendship.

[Bly opens the file, uneasily, and starts to go through the hard copies.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I took it a step further. I set up an offshore business in both of our names. I gave you a hundred thousand dollars in cash over the last week.

[Bly looks at Michael, his confidence gone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Actually, it's just ten grand deposited over and over, but it sure looks like a whole lotta money.

JASON BLY: What are you talking about?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [smiling broadly] Not done. There are other things that document our friendship.

[Bly turns the page and sees surveillance pictures of himself.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Uh, there's you in my place without a warrant, eating my yogurt. There you are riding around in a convertible Mustang, which _I_ upgraded you to. You're welcome.

[Bly knows he's screwed.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I gotta say, it looks pretty convincing to me.

[Bly forces out a wry chuckle.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's a career-ender there, Agent Bly.

JASON BLY: All right, I'm listening.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I want the dossier on my burn notice. [Bly balks] Yeah, confidential, I know, but since we're such close, personal friends... [whispers] we can keep this just between us.

[He winks conspiratorially to Bly. Bly sits defeated. A victorious grin on his face, Michael stands and claps Bly on the shoulder, genially.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'll wait for your call, buddy.

[Whistling, he walks off, leaving Bly dumbfounded in his chair. Michael ambles over to Bly's convertible and gets inside. Bly, still unaware of Michael getting in his rental car, wipes some sweat (definitely not due to the Miami sun right now) off his brow. Hearing his car start, he looks up and sees Michael driving away, grinning at him. He scrambles out of his chair and chases after him.]


CUT TO:

[Veronica's Apartment. Night. Sam, wearing a black satin nightgown, talks to Michael on the phone.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] Hey buddy, listen, I just wanted to let you know that the lady friend got a big, fat apology from your buddy Bly, so you pulled it off.

INTERCUT WITH:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Fresh out of a shower, a shirtless Michael speaks into the phone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] It worked out okay?

SAM AXE: [into phone] Oh, better than okay. I got a toothbrush here now.

[Michael laughs.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] And, uh, I think I might get that Cadillac, too. Kind of a makeup present.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] So there's no hard feelings?

SAM AXE: [into phone] No, no, I think it boosted my cred, actually. [chuckles] I mean, I got the CSS to back off. I got some super spy juice going now.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone, walking out into the balcony] Glad I could help, Sam.

[Veronica, wearing a white satin nightgown, walks up to Sam.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] Oh, uh, Mike, one other thing I wanted to give you a heads-up on.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah?

[Veronica cuddles and kisses Sam from behind, as he speaks to Michael.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] I just got off the phone with Fi a few minutes ago. Y'know, she's been helping me with this whole, uh, girlfriend thing, and just wanted to tell you man-to-man, you better get ready for the "big talk". She is coming over there.

[The loft door opens and Fiona steps inside.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] I mean, she should be there any se...

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Gotta go.

[He hangs up. Fiona removes her key from the door and shuts it, eyeing Michael.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hi.

FIONA GLENANNE: So, Bly is gone. As promised, we talk about us, or I kick your ass.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [smiling, shrugging] Fi, I don't know what to tell you.

[She ties up her hair.]

FIONA GLENANNE: You promised, Michael.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, I promised to talk about it. I didn't promise I'd know what to say.

FIONA GLENANNE: Y'know, I just want to know where I stand. I've-I've been here a while. It's been fun. Is this going anywhere?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fi, do you remember when we were together? We were profoundly unhappy. I still have scars to prove it. [pointing to his chest] You remember Dublin? [his right arm] Germany?

FIONA GLENANNE: [smiles, softly] Yes.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I just can't do that again.

FIONA GLENANNE: So you wanna be with someone else?

[They walk up slowly to each other.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: No. Fi. [long beat, seriously] As unhappy as we were, I don't think there's anyone I could be with that would make me happier than you. And I don't know if that's good enough...

FIONA GLENANNE: It's not.

[She turns, but... whips back around, hooking at him with her right fist, but he manages to parry it away. She connects with a kick to his abdomen. He doubles over and moves backwards. She follows it up with a right elbow to his head. A seriously combative expression on her face, she lashes out her arm, but he blocks it. She tries another hook, but he blocks it again and, this time, punches her almost reflexively in the mouth. She recoils from the blow and Michael immediately puts his hands up, apologetically.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, sorry! Sorry! Fi, Fi, I didn't mean that.

[She smiles at him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [uneasily] Fi.

[She continues to smile, as Round Two of the Spy Lovers Spat approaches.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [warning] Fi.

[Fiona kicks out at his ribs. He absorbs the kick. She tries another elbow to his head, but he grabs her in a chokehold. But his gentle chokehold doesn't hold her long. She wriggles out of it, crouches and literally sweeps him off his feet, with a leg-sweep. He falls with a thud and a grunt. He holds his hand out submissively.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fi, hold on. Hold on.

[She holds his outstretched hand.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

[She leans forward and kisses his palm, lovingly. Then, she twists it backwards, forcing Michael to his feet.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Ow!

[Michael, back on his feet, grabs her and swings her around, making her release his arm. He points at her.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You're gonna get yourself hurt.

[She's not even deterred. She prepares for Round 3.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Stop it. I'm warning ya. Fiona.

[She kicks, he parries. She swings her arm, he grabs her arms and pins them behind her back, holding her in an embrace. She smiles and tries to kiss him. He moves his head back.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: No.

[Grabbing her under her arm, he takes her off her feet and drops her on the spring mattress. Wrapping her legs around his neck, she drags him to the bed and straddles him. They both clutch each other's throat. Michael loosens his grip, while Fiona lets go to caress his cheek. She bends forward to kiss him, but he swings to the right, dropping her on the bed and him on top. They look at each other closely, breathing heavily. Caressing her cheek, he finally kisses her. This very soon leads to Round 4 ;).]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael and Fiona lie awake in bed. The sheets cover Fiona's modesty, just barely (pun intended). They face away from each other.]

{In any kind of covert intelligence operation, it's important to be careful what you wish for.}

[Suddenly, they both jump up, aware of the sounds outside the door. They look at each other quickly and reach under their pillows and pull out their guns. Fiona covers herself with the blanket and sits in bed, covering the windows, while Michael goes to the door.]

{The information that you fight so hard to get may be everything you wished for, or it may just make your life more complicated.}

[He yanks open the door. Bly enters, still defeated. He looks towards Fiona, who lowers her gun. He looks at Michael quizzically, then hands Michael the thick dossier he's holding.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Thanks.

JASON BLY: [nods] Have fun with it.

[He leaves. Michael closes the door. Fast-paced music plays in the background as Michael looks at the dossier. The front cover has the seal of the Central Security Service (CSS), under which "MICHAEL WESTEN" is labeled. A large "CLASSIFIED" seal runs diagonally across the front cover. Michael looks at Fiona. He's one step closer now...]


FADE TO BLACK.

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TRANSCRIBED BY RAHUL KUDVA FOR WWW.TWIZTV.COM - FREE TV SCRIPTS DATABASE
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