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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:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]

        {Covert operatives have a hard time dating.}

[Fiona's Apartment. Day. As music plays loudly on the stereo, Fiona stands in the kitchen, cooking. Michael enters the apartment, carrying his newly-obtained burn notice dossier.]

        {Even if you find someone who doesn't mind that you won't talk about your past or that you carry a concealed weapon, they usually want more than you're able to give.}

FIONA GLENANNE: You're late.

[Not having heard her, Michael walks past a bookshelf, on which many snowglobes stand. Michael turns off the stereo.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: What's that?

FIONA GLENANNE: I said, "you're late."

[He walks towards the kitchen counter and trips over a step, between the kitchen and the living room. He manages to steady himself.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Watch the step. I made you tuna with tahini. Your favorite.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sits at the counter] Good memory.

[He places the dossier on the counter and starts to pore through it. Fiona turns and sees him, completely absorbed by the huge file.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Oh, no.

[She goes to take it away, but he slams his hands on it protectively.]

FIONA GLENANNE: No dossier at lunch. [complaining] You have had your head buried in this thing every waking moment since you got it.

MICHAEL WESTEN: C'mon, Fi, it's not every day you get to read a fictional account of your whole life. Apparently, I sold secrets in Lebanon, code-breaking technology in Jordan. Who knew? I gotta figure out my next move.

FIONA GLENANNE: [turning towards the kitchen] I just can't believe it's the only thing on your mind these days.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sighs] Fi, I know we haven't talked about what happened the other night. It was... [smiles] Well, you know what it was. [beat] But there's a reason why it didn't work before.

FIONA GLENANNE: [turns to him] We were in a war zone. [takes away the dossier] This is Miami, Michael.

[As he looks at it longingly, she puts it away from him.]

CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]

CUT TO:

[Miami Beach. Day. Outside the Hotel Victor, Michael and Fiona get out of the Charger, wearing beach clothes. Michael gets blankets and a beach-chair out of the trunk. Fiona starts walking towards the Victor, while Michael walks the other way.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [pointing his direction] Fi, beach is this way.

FIONA GLENANNE: [turning to him] Actually, I got a little errand to run first. It'll only take a second.

[She resumes walking. He follows.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: What will?

FIONA GLENANNE: Bagging a bail jumper. I thought it'd be fun.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You're a bounty hunter now, Fi?

FIONA GLENANNE: Girl's gotta eat. There's this bondsman. He gives me odd jobs.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [admonishing] Fi!

[She stops to look at him.]

FIONA GLENANNE: How often do I help you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [concedes] All the time.

[He gives her shoulder a supportive squeeze. They nod at each other. She pulls a hard copy out of her purse. A good-looking guy's mugshot is printed on it, along with a rap sheet.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Here's who we're looking for. Thomas McKee. I got a tip about an hour ago he's staying at the Victor.

[Fiona is about to cross the road, when Michael looks at the jeep near him and speaks up.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fi, I have a feeling this guy's not gonna survive on the lam.

[He points to the jeep's licence plate. The plate says "TOMCKEE".]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Is it always this easy for you?

[She smiles brightly. They cross the street, heading for the Victor. Just then, a guy comes running out of the hotel front door and bumps into a lady, standing at the steps, knocking her down.]

RUNNING GUY: Oh, hey, sorry.

[Offering his apology to the flustered lady, he resumes walking quickly along the sidewalk. Michael notices him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Uh, there's your guy.

[Camera zooms onto the running guy, who is...]

                                        THOMAS MCKEE

                                          FUGITIVE

[Suddenly, a mountain of a man bursts out of the hotel, hot on Thomas' trail.]                                         

MICHAEL WESTEN: Whoa, whoa, whoa, who is that?

[Camera zooms in on the muscular pursuer, who is...]

                                        WAYNE RAY

                                   OTHER BOUNTY HUNTER

FIONA GLENANNE: Wayne Ray, bounty hunter. I might have snaked a few of his collars.

[Wayne rushes after Thomas, shoving an elderly man brusquely out of his way. Pulling his gun out, he aims it at Thomas as he bellows.]

WAYNE RAY: McKee, get on the ground!

[Ducking low, Thomas takes to his heels. Wayne refrains from firing and chases.]

FIONA GLENANNE: You take Wayne, I'll take Thomas.

[She runs off.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Doesn't seem fair?

[Fighting off his reluctance to tangle with the gorilla, Michael runs towards Wayne. He collides with Wayne, both of them bouncing off each other, Michael a bit farther. Michael puts on his best "annoyed surfer" persona.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Ohh, du-u-ude!

[Irritated at the clumsy surfer, Wayne jumps back up and resumes pursuit.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Du-u-u-...!

[He gives up once Wayne's out of earshot. He gets up. On the perpendicular street, Fiona runs, keeping a safe distance from Thomas, who runs into an alley. Running behind a Dumpster at a corner of the alleyway, he hides behind it. Wayne stops near the start of the alley, looks around and resumes running along the sidewalk. Puffing and panting, Thomas sneaks a peek behind the Dumpster and sees Wayne's gone. He crouches in relief and breathes heavily. Just then, Fiona walks up from his side and levels her gun at him.]

FIONA GLENANNE: There you are.

[Shocked and scared, he turns to her, holding his hands out.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Please, please, I didn't do it. I'm innocent, I swear.

[A short while later, she ushers a plasticuffed Thomas towards the Charger, where Michael sits at the wheel.]

FIONA GLENANNE: In you go.

[She shoves him into the back quickly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nice work. Where do we deliver him?

[She gets into the front passenger's seat.]

FIONA GLENANNE: We don't. He says he's innocent. He's coming home with us.

THOMAS MCKEE: [exhausted, holding out his hand] Hi, I'm Thomas.

[Ignoring Thomas, Michael narrows his eyes at Fiona. Annoyed, he starts the car. Wayne runs towards the car.]

WAYNE RAY: Hey!

[Thomas ducks his head in the back seat.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [excited] I told you this would be fun.

[Michael races away.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Hold it right there! Get back here!

[But the Charger's already burning rubber away from him.]

CUT TO:

[Opening Credits.]

CUT TO:

[Fiona's Apartment. Day. Thomas, still plasticuffed, marvels at Fiona's large snowglobe collection.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Beijing, London, the Taj Mahal? Look at all these.

[Standing away, Michael tries to explain something quietly to Fiona.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Bounty hunter. The point is to collect the bounty by turning him in. The job is what, four thousand dollars?

[Thomas awkwardly shakes a snowglobe and looks at it.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Wow!

FIONA GLENANNE: He's offering us eight just to clear his name, Michael. Hear him out.

[Michael accepts, reluctantly.]

THOMAS MCKEE: [shaking another snowglobe] Hey, you have been, like, everywhere.

FIONA GLENANNE: Yeah, I work a job, buy a snowglobe. Some people say I'm sentimental.

[Michael and Fiona sit on the couch.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Why don't you tell us about your situation?

THOMAS MCKEE: Oh, right, yeah.

[He places the snowglobe back and turns to them.]

THOMAS MCKEE: I do liquor promotions for a bunch of the hotels on South Beach. Now, I'm friends with a girl who night-managed the Victor. A couple months ago, I'm makin' a delivery, and she shows me this, uh, y'know, like, you pin on your, [pointing to his chest] um, you know, what do you call the...?

FIONA GLENANNE: A brooch?

THOMAS MCKEE: Right. They were holding it for a guest. [excitedly] Two million bucks.

MICHAEL WESTEN: She showed it to you. Why?

THOMAS MCKEE: [really excited] Because it's worth two million bucks, man! I mean, it had a huge rock! I mean, this thing was just... [noticing Michael uninterested look] Anyway, it gets stolen, and my friend

gets fired for showing me the brooch, and the cops arrest me.

MICHAEL WESTEN: For just looking at it? I'm guessing there's more than that.

THOMAS MCKEE: Yeah, I had an access card for the hotel office for late-night deliveries, and I lost it. And then I find out that somebody used it to rip off the brooch, and now everyone's looking at me like I'm some criminal mastermind or whatever.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And you went back to the scene of the crime, why?

THOMAS MCKEE: [duh!] Investigating. [chuckles] I was trying to find out who did it, you know? My trial was supposed to start yesterday, and my lawyer basically tells me, before we go in, that I'm gonna lose.

[Fiona watches him, bright-eyed, with rapt attention.]

THOMAS MCKEE: I mean, I just... I kinda freaked. I mean, I know that you're not supposed to skip court, but, man, I can't go to jail.

FIONA GLENANNE: [bright-eyed] I wanna help him. Do it for me, Michael.

[Thomas looks at Michael, pleadingly. Michael looks at Fiona, staring at Thomas, still bright-eyed.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [do I have a choice?] Okay.

[Later, Michael and Fiona walk out into the patio, overlooking the marina.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Y'know, between the cops and Wayne and all the other bounty hunters, we're gonna have to stash him somewhere.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Why can't you keep him here?

FIONA GLENANNE: [beat] You're okay with that? Another guy staying at my place?

[They lean on the wooden railing, overlooking the water.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, it's fine by me.

FIONA GLENANNE: Okay, then, it's fine by me, too.

[Later, as Michael walks towards his car, he dials on his cell phone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, Sam, I need a favor.

CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]

CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Sam and a chubby guy (with a snazzy haircut and French beard) sit at a table together.]

CHUBBY GUY: Diamonds? Fun. Buying or selling?

[He is...]

                                        BARRY

                                   MONEY LAUNDERER

SAM AXE: Neither. Looking for a two-million-dollar brooch. It's like a little spidey thing.

BARRY: Yeah, yeah, the one that got lifted from the Victor two months ago. I read about it in the paper.

SAM AXE: That's the one. You think it's on the market yet?

BARRY: Doubt it. A stone that big is easy to ID. Like selling a fingerprint. And if you cut it, the value plummets, takes months to line up a buyer. 'S a pain in the ass, really.

SAM AXE: So, who does that around here?

BARRY: Really only one guy for something that big in Miami. Don't ask me for an intro, though. The guy shorted me on some hot rocks a few months back, cost me a client. We had words.

SAM AXE: Well, gimme a name. Mike'll see to it the guy loses a few clients of his own.

BARRY: Name's Cristo. Like Madonna, the whole one-name thing.

SAM AXE: Like Charo.

BARRY: Sting.

SAM AXE: Fergie.

BARRY: Pelé.

SAM AXE: Spiderman.

BARRY: Liberace.

SAM AXE: [beat] Crap, I can't think of any more.

BARRY: Anyway, Cristo's got this place on South Beach, but good luck getting a meeting because he's, like, all high-end referrals.

SAM AXE: [chuckling] Well, you know Mike. He's not gonna call to make an appointment.

CUT TO:

[Stock footage of South Beach. Day.]

CUT TO:

[Cristo's Mansion. Day. A middle-aged man enters the house and locks the door. He is...]

                                        CRISTO

                                      THE FENCE

[He goes to turn off the alarm, when he notices that it's been tampered with, wired hanging out from the side. Nervously, he looks around and sees a bag of tortilla chips lying on his coffee table. A voice behind him gives him a start.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You're out of salsa.

[Cristo whirls around, pulling out his gun, which was shoved into his pants. Michael, popping a chip into his mouth, calmly grabs Cristo's gun arm and pivots around, dragging Cristo. Stopping abruptly, he twists the arm, sending Cristo crashing to the hardwood floor on his back. Quick as a flash, Michael twists Cristo around, disarming him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You okay? That looked like it hurt.

[Michael plasticuffs Cristo.]

CRISTO: [unnerved] Who are you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Let's not talk about me. Let's talk about what I want. I'm looking for a piece of jewelry. Thirty carats, platinum setting, spider-lookin' thing. Sound familiar?

CRISTO: I don't know what you're talking about.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, we gotta do this the hard way.

[Michael thrusts his knee into Cristo's back, pressing the gun to the back of his head. He pulls out his PDA/cell phone.]

        {Selling stolen goods is all about discretion. You gotta be the kind of person who can keep your mouth shut.]

[Michael breezes through the Contact List on the PDA and settles on "Gerald D.".]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Gerald? He sounds nice.

[Michael hits the button, calling Gerald.]

CRISTO: Hey! Hey, hey, what are you doin'?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Shh! It's ringing.

[Cristo helplessly watches Michael, from his uncomfortable prone position on the floor.]

        {The kind of person who never, ever shares the numbers in their little black book.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone, sounding flustered] Hey, Gerald, man. My name is Paco. I'm buddies with your fence, Cristo. Man, I'm in some legal trouble. Cristo said you could help me out. Can I stay on your...

[Michael lowers the phone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's rude. He hung up. [dialing another number] Maybe Vincent will be nicer.

[Cristo manages to pull himself up, sitting on the floor.]

CRISTO: [pleading] No, no.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I can do this all night.

CRISTO: Stop.

[Hanging up, Michael sits on an armchair.]

CRISTO: I got a call about the brooch. The guy was an amateur. He thought you could sell a

rock like that on the street. He got all pissed off when I said that he better hang onto it for at least six months. I told him I will look for a buyer, but he needed the cash quick. I think he's planning

to move it in Europe.

MICHAEL WESTEN: What's his name?

CRISTO: I don't know his real name. I got his phone number. That's all.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Okay, good enough. I'll take it. Oh, and, by the way, I should mention, I went through your fridge while you were out. Do you know actually it's one of the most frequently used hiding places?

[Michael holds up a diamond necklace.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Found this in the orange sherbet.

[Cristo sighs in frustration.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I assume you're holding it for someone. I'll keep it until our job is finished. Until then, you keep your mouth shut about our little chat.

[He pops a chips into his mouth.]

CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Night.]

CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael sits upstairs, looking through the dossier.]

        {Even the most careful spy leaves a trail that could get them burned. A patriot making illicit deals for his government looks a lot like a traitor making black-market sales for his wallet. Somebody upstairs gets the wrong idea, and suddenly you're burned and out of a job.}

[Sam enters, carrying a six-pack of beer.]

SAM AXE: Mike, piece of advice. Ladies like attention. They don't want to be second to a dossier. Not even a big one.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You've been talking to Fi.

SAM AXE: If by "talking to Fi", you mean "listening to Fi", then, yeah. So, look, I got a hold of my contacts at the FBI, about the guy who put your little dossier together.

[He places the beer in the fridge and takes one for himself.]

SAM AXE: [snorts] They were not very helpful at all. They stuck me with the bill.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Did you get anything?

[Sam sits and pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket.]

SAM AXE: Everything I know about Philip Cowan, who works for the National  Security Agency, fits right here on the back of the receipt. I'll read it for ya. "He works counterintel for the NSA." That's it. That's all I got.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Is there any way to reach him?

SAM AXE: Mike, you know these NSA guys. They're like ghosts. They got no phone number, no address, no nothing. Sorry I couldn't be more help.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sits back and sighs] Guess I'll have to find another way to get in touch with him.

SAM AXE: Hey, how's your jewel thing going?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I could use some more help, actually. I need you to run down a phone number. It belongs to a jewel thief.

[Writing down the number on a piece of paper, he holds it out to Sam, who sits downstairs.]

SAM AXE: Make you a deal. I'll talk to my cop buddies, you cover my little working lunch.

[He holds out his receipt. Both guys lazily hold out their pieces of paper, Michael sitting on top and Sam below. They keep shaking it at each other, hoping the other will get up and take it.]

FADE TO:

[Outside Fiona's Apartment. Day. Michael walks onto the patio, where Fiona stands, wearing a baseball mitt and holding a baseball. He looks at the barbecue grill nearby, with some meat grillin'.]

FIONA GLENANNE: You want one? They're awesome. Thomas is a hell of a cook.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Playing catch?

FIONA GLENANNE: [displaying the mitt and ball] He's teaching me baseball. It's really nothing like cricket.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sam's checking up on the real thief, so Thomas should be out of here soon enough.

FIONA GLENANNE: Oh, it's no rush. I like having him around. Thanks for suggesting it.

[Michael smiles, ignoring her "make-me-jealous" taunts.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I need a favor, Fi. I need you to reach out to your black-market contacts. The scarier, the better.

FIONA GLENANNE: Is this about the dossier? [sits]

MICHAEL WESTEN: It's about the man who burned me. He's hard to reach. I need to recruit some help.

FIONA GLENANNE: So, how you gonna do it?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I've been accused of being a major security risk. It's time I started acting like one.

FIONA GLENANNE: I know a few Iranians who are comin' into town.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Ooh, let's avoid people who use "Michael Westen" and "Jihad" in the same sentence.

FIONA GLENANNE: How about Libyans? I hear there's a group here talking to some South American oil companies.

MICHAEL WESTEN: See if you can set it up.

[Thomas walks up, from behind Michael. His short is open. He carries two double-deuce beer bottles. He hands one to Fiona, who smiles sweetly at him. As he passes by Michael, he pats him on the shoulder.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Hey, Mike.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [poker-faced] Hello.

[Fiona takes a swig of the beer and lets out a refreshed sigh. Michael keeps his smile plastered to his face, restraining the envy he feels. He puffs up his cheeks, preparing to exhale forcibly.]

FADE TO:

[Outside Hotel Victor. Day. Michael and Sam stand outside the Victor.]

SAM AXE: [holding a hard copy] Phone number you gave me belongs to Lawrence Henderson.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [takes the paper] Does he work at the hotel?

SAM AXE: Hah! I wouldn't say "work". he owns it. I mean, for now, at least. He bet big on the Victor. Now he's got a cash-flow problem. So, if you do the math, it's a little screwy. He's got two million bucks for a brooch, but that's not gonna bail him out of his hole, but it might give him a year or two to turn things around.

[An SUV pulls up to the Victor. A blond guy in a suit gets out, flanked by his bodyguards. He is...]

                                        LAWRENCE HENDERSON

                                        HOTEL OWNER, THIEF

                                       

[He walks into the Victor.]  

MICHAEL WESTEN: Cops ever look at him?

SAM AXE: No, they cleared him. He had an alibi and a fleet of lawyers to sell it. A few years back, he had a club in New Orleans. It was hit by, I guess you'd call it, a very convenient fire. Almost killed a busboy. He got the hotel with the insurance money. Got a hell of a security setup. He's a little paranoid.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Even paranoids have enemies, Sam.

SAM AXE: You're living proof of that.

MICHAEL WESTEN: What are you saying?

SAM AXE: [awkwardly] Well, a little. I mean...

MICHAEL WESTEN: [cuts him off] We should go.

CUT TO:

[Fiona's Apartment. Day. Michael speaks to Thomas, while Fiona watches.]

THOMAS MCKEE: The guy who owns the Victor did this to me? I don't even know him.

MICHAEL WESTEN: It's not personal. You handled the brooch. You had easy access. You're an easy fall guy.

THOMAS MCKEE: So, what now? I mean, can we go to the cops with that guy Cristo?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mmm, what do we tell 'em? "I broke into his house and extorted information from him?" Meanwhile, Lawrence ditches the brooch, Cristo denies everything, and the only guys that go to jail are you and me.

[Thomas looks at Fiona for some moral support.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [softly, comforting] It's fine.

[A little placated, Thomas gets off the couch and walks to the wall, leaning against it. In the background, Wayne Ray stands menacingly on the other side of Fiona's back door.]

WAYNE RAY: Hard or easy. Your choice.

[Thomas takes off. Michael and Fiona come to take a look.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Take Thomas out the back.

[Wayne smashes a pane in the glass door with a brick, near the lock, and reaches inside to door.]

FIONA GLENANNE: No, I'd rather stay...

MICHAEL WESTEN: [firmly] Fi!

FIONA GLENANNE: Right.

[She follows Thomas out. Michael holds his hands out, trying to be peaceable. Wayne recognizes the clumsy surfer du-u-ude.]

WAYNE RAY: You?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Can we talk?

WAYNE RAY: Man, I'm done talking.

[Not even considering Michael a threat, the beefcake starts to walk towards the living room. Michael pushes his entire body against Wayne's, shoving Wayne into the wall. Not even bothered by the bump into the wall, Wayne follows Michael (whom he now considers an irritation) into the kitchen. Michael points to the door frame above Wayne's head, which he nearly brushes against.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Watch your head.

[Wayne looks up at the frame for a second and then, takes a wide swing at Michael. Michael evades the blow and sidesteps. He sends his knee into Wayne's ribs, making the big guy grunt. He then drops his elbow hard into the doubled-over guy's back. But the big guy isn't even fazed. He stands up tall, making the significant height and size difference really noticeable.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [this ain't good] Oh, damn.

[Michael rears back and aims a blow to Wayne's face. With his left hand, Wayne grabs Michael's fist and twists it away, causing Michael to grunt in pain.]

        {When you're giving five inches and a hundred pounds to a well-trained opponent, it helps to know the terrain better than he does.}

[Wayne, still clutching Michael's fist, sends his free one into Michael's face. Michael staggers away, towards the kitchen counter, making sure to jump first. Wayne runs after him and trips on the same step that Michael tripped on earlier (that's why he jumped). He falls to the ground with a thud. Michael jumps on his back and grabs him in a sleeper-hold from behind.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: That step is hard to see. I did the same thing earlier.

[Struggling for air, Wayne pushes himself (and Michael) up. Grabbing Michael's head, he yanks him off of him and drops him to the floor. He grabs Michael in a dangerous-looking chokehold.]

WAYNE RAY: Where'd they go?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [choked] I can't tell you if you keep choking me!

[Wayne sniggers, but doesn't release the hold. He tightens his grip on Michael's throat. Michael is fading fast. Suddenly, a glass bowl shatters over Wayne's head, clear fluid splashing all around. Wayne's eyes flutter and he falls unconscious. Michael pushes his hand off his throat and gasps for breath. Fiona stands over the two of them, holding a shattered snowglobe, looking rueful.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Italy was one of my favorites.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [annoyed, gasping] Thank you.

CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. While Thomas sits on Michael's bed, Fiona and Michael have a chat.]

FIONA GLENANNE: He has to stay with you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: With me, Fi?

FIONA GLENANNE: My place isn't safe. We just left the world's largest bounty hunter knocked out on my front lawn.

THOMAS MCKEE: Guys, look, I don't want to cause problems. I can go stay at a motel or something.

FIONA GLENANNE: No, don't be silly. Cheap motels are the first place guys like Wayne are gonna look for bail jumpers.

[She sits next to Thomas.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Michael's fine having you here.

 MICHAEL WESTEN: [Cheshire-cat grin] Yeah.

[He walks towards the kitchen.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Well, you guys are the experts, I guess. [gratefully] Seriously, man, thanks.

[Michael gives him a thumbs-up (more like a thump-up-yours).]

FIONA GLENANNE: We'll figure this out, Thomas. [massaging Thomas' shoulders] Tell him about the plan, Michael.

MICHAEL WESTEN: The plan.

THOMAS MCKEE: There's a plan?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, yeah, there's a plan. I'm gonna pose as a buyer, set up a sale, get Lawrence to bring the brooch out into the open, then the cops will arrest him.

FIONA GLENANNE: [still giving Thomas a back-rub] And we will be celebrating your freedom by the end of the week.

[Opening the fridge door, Michael frowns at Fiona's shameless attempts to bait him. Losing his appetite, he turns to them.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [smiling] Hey, Fi, can I... [beckoning her] Can we talk about the plan? Just...

[Thomas starts to moan in satisfaction as Fiona keeps massaging his back and neck. She gets up and gives him an extra neck squeeze, for good measure, and walks to the kitchen counter. Michael smiles at her.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [softly] What are you doing?

[Thomas lets out a happy sigh and falls back on the bed.]

FIONA GLENANNE: I'm not doing anything. We're working.

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, no, this is different, and you know this is different.

FIONA GLENANNE: I didn't think we were in a relationship, Michael.

[He gives her a look. She turns to Thomas, who lolls about in the bed.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Do you want something to drink, Thomas? Maybe a, uh, yogurt?

[Michael restrains his urge to throttle Fiona for giving away his precious yogurt.]

CUT TO:

[Sidewalk café. Day. Michael and Sam walk past the tables and chairs outside.]

SAM AXE: Mixing romance and work is a bad idea. Veronica, just the other day, she asked me if bullets

came in different sizes. Isn't that the cutest thing you've ever heard?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [monotone] That is so adorable. Sam, you gonna help me on this?

SAM AXE: Yeah. When have I ever said no?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Lawrence needs a buyer. That'll be me. You're the middleman. Cristo is setting up an

appointment with you and Lawrence.

SAM AXE: So, what's my cover ID? A shady international business guy?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, something like that. You're gonna take point on this deal.

SAM AXE: [sighs, upset] Oh, that means I gotta shave and put on a suit. It's ninety percent humidity, and I gotta come on all professional.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And paranoid. Extremely security-conscious so he doesn't have to be.

SAM AXE: [whining] Veronica and I were gonna go to the Keys, Mike.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [looking at Sam] Sam.

SAM AXE: [relents] Okay, okay, but I... I just gotta go on record. I think this whole thing with Fiona is unhealthy. You gotta go through all this crap just to get some guy she picked up out of your place?

[Michael looks at Sam, emotionlessly, but the message is clear enough for Sam to back away.]

SAM AXE: Okay, I'll break out the suit.

CUT TO:

[Hotel Victor. Day. Sam, clean-shaven and dressed smartly in a brown suit, enters the Victor.]

        {A good cover identity is a team effort. If you want to meet someone, it's a good idea to play a little hard to get.}

[Sam enters the restaurant, nodding at some ladies as he passes by.]

        {Put people between yourself and the target. Make them come to you.}

[He comes up to the Maitre D'.]       

SAM AXE: Yes, I'm looking for a Mr. Henderson.

[She points him to a table.]

SAM AXE: Ah, thank you.

[He walks to Henderson's table.]

SAM AXE: [holds out his hand] Mr. Henderson? Charles Finley. We spoke on the phone.

[He sits at the table.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [pleasantly, Southern accent] It's good to meet you. Cristo said you were a good  man. He-he vouched for you.

[He takes a big sip of his drink, which Sam looks longingly at.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Listen, can I get you a drink? Some twenty-year-old single malt?

[Sam pulls on all his experience in the spy business to utter the following bare-faced lie.]

SAM AXE: Thanks, but no. I... I'm not a drinker.

[He looks at the half-full bottle, hungrily.]

SAM AXE: Look, I'll get right down to business. I represent a group of clients who deal in merchandise that is bought and sold, let's just say, quietly. I understand that you have something we might be interested in.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Well, If I do business with a man, I have to meet with him face-to-face.

SAM AXE: Well, I'm sorry, but that won't be possible. [looks around] For obvious reasons, discretion is extremely important to us.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Important to me, too. Now, if he would like to come to my home, that's fine. We could talk.

[He swirls his drink. Sam stares at the inviting drink. Henderson drinks up and heaves out a sigh.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Otherwise... [sniggers]

[Sam collects his sunglasses off the table and gets up.]

SAM AXE: [shaking Henderson's hand] No guarantees, sir, but I'll try and make the arrangements. Good day.

[He leaves.]

FADE TO:

[Parking Garage. Day. Michael stands in the darkened parking garage, behind some cars. He sees the door open and a middle-aged Libyan, wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, walk out. Michael's cell phone rings. He answers it.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Hey, Sam. How's it going?

[He starts to walk behind the Libyan, as the latter moves to his car.]

INTERCUT WITH:

[Outside Hotel Victor. Day. Sam loosens his tie as he speaks to Michael on his cell phone.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] I got us a meeting for tomorrow.

[Michael tails the Libyan.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] We'll talk later. My Libyan just showed up.

SAM AXE: [into phone, complaining] Fine, but, from now on, no cover IDs that involve turning down twenty-year-old scotch.

[Michael hangs up and keeps walking. The Libyan walks out of sight, behind a jeep. Michael turns the corner of the jeep and sees the Libyan holding a gun waist-high, aimed at him. The Libyan frowns at him. He is...]

                                        ANWAR

                                  LIBYAN OPERATIVE

ANWAR: Who are you?

[Michael holds his hands out.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, hello to you, too. My name is Michael Westen. I heard you were in town. Just wanted to say "hi".

ANWAR: You're Westen? [sizes Michael up] I thought you would be taller.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You can put the gun down. I just wanna talk.

ANWAR: With you? [snorts] I've heard, people talk to you, sometimes they don't live so long.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, that was then. Ask around. My situation has changed. My side isn't talking to me anymore, so that leaves you guys. Don't make up your mind right now. Do your homework. See what you think. I'm around.

[Still holding his hands out, he walks off. Anwar, though wary, seems interested.]

CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Night.]

CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Michael opens the door and sees Thomas and Fiona sitting at Chez Michael's makeshift table, eating a candlelight dinner, drinking wine and talking. Michael slams the door and walks towards them.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Am I interruptin' something?

FIONA GLENANNE: Thomas made dinner.

THOMAS MCKEE: Yeah, to say "thank you". I, uh, I did make some for you, Mike, but, um...

FIONA GLENANNE: We ate it.

[She and Thomas laugh heartily.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Because it was so good.

[Michael stands there, his grin plastered on his face.]

FIONA GLENANNE: How'd it go with Sam?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Great. The meeting is set with Lawrence. If I can get him to bring the brooch out into the open, we can get him caught with it.

THOMAS MCKEE: So I might get to go home soon?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Let's hope so.

[They share smiles all around, though Michael seems to be tiring of fake-grinning.]

CUT TO:

[Henderson Estate. Day. Michael and Sam, in a luxury (stolen?) sedan, drive up to the automatic gate, which opens, allowing it inside the property, past the suit-wearing security personnel. Sam gets out. Looking around warily, he circles round to the rear passenger door. He notices a security camera pointing at them. He holds the door open for Michael, who gets out carrying a briefcase. They both notice the many cameras aimed at different spots.]

SAM AXE: He's locked down pretty tight here, Mike. He's either expecting an armored assault...

MICHAEL WESTEN: [hands him the briefcase] Or he has something to protect.

SAM AXE: Mm-hmm.

[Later, they walk with Henderson through the lush garden.]

SAM AXE: Unfortunately, we only have a few minutes. We have some important meetings.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Well, thank you for coming, Mr... uh...

MICHAEL WESTEN: Smith.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [amused] Smith?

SAM AXE: Yes. Typically, with this sort of deal, we like to keep things not so personal, you understand? For security purposes.

[They walk into a covered patio, where a maid cleans up.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Normally, I do not like to do meetings in person, but for a piece like this, I was

willing to make an exception.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Well, the way I see it, you can't trust a man if you can't look him in the eye. Am I right?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [looking him in the eye] 'Course you're right.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [to Sam] Mr. Finley, you can wait right here.

SAM AXE: Sir, it's important that I stay in the...

MICHAEL WESTEN: Charles, that's fine.

SAM AXE: Well, the least I can do is...

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'll take care of it.

SAM AXE: Very good, sir.

[Handing Michael the briefcase, Sam waits outside, while Henderson and Michael enter into Henderson's study. The maid comes up behind Sam.]

MAID: Something to drink, sir?

[Sam looks at her and turns away, keeping his resolve.]

SAM AXE: Yeah, water will be just great. Thank you.

[Inside Henderson's study, Michael sits in front of the ornate desk, while Henderson goes behind it.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [sitting] So how did you hear about me?

[Michael speaks with an air of bored indifference.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I've worked with Cristo before. And the people you've contacted in Europe aren't being as discreet as you might like.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Is that right?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Word is out. None of my business, but I would sell quickly. It might not be long

before somebody tries to take it off your hands without your consent, shall we say.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Well, let me worry about that. That brooch isn't going anywhere soon.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, don't be pessimistic. Let me see what I can do to pry it loose.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Brass tacks, then. The item is worth two million. I could give it to you for... [thinks] one-seventy-five cash.

MICHAEL WESTEN: For something I have to cut up into little pieces? Hmm, no. one-point-two is more than generous.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Then let's call it one-point-six and be done.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Lemme show you something.

[He picks up the briefcase and puts it on the table. Opening it, he removes the diamond necklace (which he's "keeping" for Cristo).]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [showing Henderson the necklace] Stolen from an armored truck _over_ two years ago. I  picked it up this morning for fifty cents on the dollar. Would you like to talk to Cristo about it?

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [gazing narrowly at Michael] One-quarter.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm being very generous offering one-point-two.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [not happy, but...] Fine. In cash. Small, used bills.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [smiles brightly] Excellent. Of course, I'll need to see it first.

[He puts the necklace back into the briefcase.]

        {Just because someone believes you are who you say you are doesn't mean he'll do what you want him to do.}

[Henderson reaches into his desk drawer and takes out a magazine cutout of the brooch. He slides it over to Michael.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: There it is.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [smiles] Cute. I'm serious.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Mr... Smith, this brooch isn't coming out to play till you come back with the money

in that little case of yours.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fine. We do the deal tomorrow, but not here. We have to take the diamonds out to an independent lab for authentication and then...

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [interrupts] We do it here, where I can control it, or it doesn't happen at all.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm afraid an independent testing site is a deal-breaker for me.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [shrugs indifferently] Then I'm afraid we don't have a deal.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [beat] Pity.

FLASH TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael confers with Sam and Fiona about their next plan of action, while Thomas sits on the steps.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Lawrence needs the money. He thinks it's too risky to move the brooch right now.

THOMAS MCKEE: [butts in] So, what do we do?

[They look at him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Convince him it's too risky to stay put. I already planted the idea that somebody might be trying to steal it. We need to back that up, push on his paranoia. Motivate him to sell.

THOMAS MCKEE: [getting up] I thought you said that his place was impossible to get into.

MICHAEL WESTEN: It is. Between the security system, the guards and the safe, we'd need a small army just to get in there.

FIONA GLENANNE: Well, we'll just have to make him think we've got a small army.

SAM AXE: Christ, this is turning into a full psych-op campaign.

THOMAS MCKEE: What are we talking about here?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [annoyed, enunciating] Psychological warfare.

SAM AXE: [getting up, patting Thomas on the shoulder] Give you an example. US used to broadcast static to Soviet listening posts, trying to get them to think it was some new kind of cipher.

[Sam goes to the fridge and refills his iced tea glass.]

SAM AXE: So they spent all kinds of rubles, basically trying to decode white noise.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We need to convince the enemy we're stronger than we are.

SAM AXE: Yeah, except it takes forever. Y'know, Mike, I was supposed to go car shopping with Veronica. We're talking Cadillacs, you know.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You need to do it next week, Sam. We got a lot of work to do. [to Sam and Fiona] You two scout it out. I gotta get ready for the meeting.

[He walks out.]

CUT TO:

[Parking Garage. Day. Michael stands alone in the garage.]

            {Clandestine meetings are never fun to arrange. It's a big part of the job for a covert operative, but it's never pleasant.}

[A black Mercedes speeds up and pulls to a halt next to him. He walks towards it calmly. A tough-looking Libyan suit jumps out of the passenger side and jerks his finger towards the back seat.]

LIBYAN SUIT: Get in.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Where's Anwar?

[Wordlessly, the suit grabs Michael by the scruff of his neck and shoves him towards the back seat. Michael doesn't resist as he's dumped into the back seat as roughly as possible. The driver watches him. The suit sits down next to him and shuts the car door. He slaps a small gunny bag on Michael's chest. Michael rolls his head in irritation.]

            {It's not so much the fear of death that bothers you. It's driving to the meet with a bag over your head.}

[He sighs loudly and looks at the suit.]

            {Sometimes they wash the bag.}

[Making a disgusted face and closing his mouth tightly, he puts the bag over his head.]

            {Sometimes they don't.}

[The driver guns the engine and they speed off.]

CUT TO:

[Non-descript Warehouse. Day. The driver ushers Michael into a chair and yanks the bag off his head. Michael spits out some muck. The driver walks away from Michael towards some other Libyan operatives, who sit in the less-than-luxurious place, watching a documentary on hippos on an old black-and-white TV, eating lunch.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You're really missing out on the Miami beach scene, staying in a place like this. Have you checked out the beach hotels? They're surprisingly affordable in the off-season.

[The Libyans ignore him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Guys?

[He shrugs. The large metal door opens and Anwar walks inside. He walks over to Michael, removing his suit jacket and draping it around the chair in front of Michael.]

ANWAR: Okay, you wanted to talk. Talk.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You checked out my situation, I assume.

ANWAR:  Your own people turned on you? Yes. So what? Now you're working for us? [snorts] Why should I believe this?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Your government would like to know who attacked your gas-supply depot in Ghadamis in 2002. I could supply that information.

ANWAR: And why would you do this for us?

MICHAEL WESTEN: The US and Libya have mutual enemies. This would be a win-win situation for everyone. Well, everyone except for the guys who blew up the gas-supply depot.

ANWAR: Why don't I just make you tell me, then kill you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: You could do that. The information might or might not check out. Torture's unreliable, as you know. And then you'd have to deal with Fiona, who put me in touch with you. More trouble than it's worth, [softly] trust me.

[Even a hard-edged guy like Anwar doesn't relish having to deal with Fiona. He sits in front of Michael.]

ANWAR: All right. What do you want?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm trying to reach out to the man who burned me - NSA officer Philip Cowan. I just need you to mention him as a friend of yours when you know the Americans are listening.

ANWAR: A friend? And say what?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I don't know. Have the head of your secret police send him a fruit basket. Be creative. He'll try to figure out what the hell is going on, and, in no time, he'll figure out it's me.

ANWAR: [sits back in his chair and smiles] We'll think about it.

[He gets up and throws the gunny bag on Michael's lap. He snaps his fingers at the driver, who gets up and walks over to Michael. Michael looks at him, giving him a tight smile. The driver doesn't budge.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I love this part.

[He puts the bag over his head. The driver pulls him up.]

CUT TO:

[Outside Henderson Estate. Day. Sam sits in the driver seat of his car. He looks behind at Fiona, who holds a camera.]

SAM AXE: You ready back there?

FIONA GLENANNE: Drive.

[Sam starts the car and drives slowly past the estate gates. Fiona points the camera outside the half-opened window and takes pictures of a surveillance camera and a couple of security guards.]

        {The thing about security is that the very things that protect you can be turned against you by someone who knows what he's doing.}

CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Fiona lies across the bed, while Sam stands near it. Pictures are strewn all over the bed. They look at the pictures and draw up plans. Michael stands at the kitchen counter, while Thomas hands out appetizers.]

        {It's tough to compromise a well-thought-out security system, but making someone think you can compromise it, well, that's much easier.}

[Michael dismantles a laser pointer, solders something, tapes something and strips a wire. Finally, he tapes his newly-fabricated contraption together. It's got 5 laser pointers joined together in a circle, fitted to one battery and one switch. He shines the laser dots on his palm.]

        {Take surveillance cameras, for example.}

CUT TO:

[Outside Henderson Estate. Day. Sam drives the car past the surveillance cameras. He stops long enough for Fiona to aim Michael's contraption at the camera, through the half-opened car window. The laser dots hit the camera.]

        {You can disable one by shooting a laser at it and overloading the light-sensitive chip.}

CUT TO:

[Henderson Estate, Security Office. Day. While the security guy writes on a clipboard, the monitor, with inputs from four cameras, shows static on one of them.]

CUT TO:

[Outside Henderson Estate. Day. Fiona repeats the same procedure with another camera.]

CUT TO:

[Henderson Estate, Security Office. Day. Another camera input goes staticky.]       

        {Cheap, easy...}

CUT TO:

[Outside Henderson Estate. Day. Sam drives off.]

CUT TO:

[Henderson Estate, Security Office. Day. The security guy calls another and speaks into his headset, reporting the sudden loss of reception from the two cameras. He shows the other guy the static images.]

        {... and exactly the sort of thing a sophisticated criminal gang with lots of resources would do.}

CUT TO:

[Outside Henderson Estate. Day. Sam walks slowly along the grass outside the estate walls, calmly dropping cigarette butts from a plastic baggie onto the grass. He tosses a camera-lens cap on the grass.]

        {Leave around some telltale signs of surveillance, like cigarette butts, a forgotten camera-lens cap.}

[His job done, he walks away.]

FADE TO:

[Outside Henderson Estate. Day. The camera hovers over the same spot Sam just walked away from. A security guard walks by and notices the stuff Sam dropped. He picks up a cigarette butt and the lens cap. He frowns.]

               

        {And the more security there is, the more likely they are to think they've got a very serious problem.}

[He walks quickly away, talking on his headset.]

CUT TO:

[Outside Ted's house. Day. A car pulls inside the estate, as Fiona stands outside. A security guard (Ted) gets out of the car and starts walking towards his place.]

        {Even the security team itself can be an opportunity. The more employees you have, the more you have to worry about.}

FIONA GLENANNE: Hello.

[Ted turns towards Fiona.]

TED: Can I help you?

FIONA GLENANNE: Maybe. You work at the Hendersons'. You're Ted, right?

TED: Yeah, who are you?

FIONA GLENANNE: [smiles] Oh, my name isn't important. We've been watching you. At work, at home. You look like you could use a little help.

[She holds out an envelope to him. Unsurely, he takes it.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [sounding serious] We'll be in touch.

[As Fiona walks away, Ted opens the envelope and removes some money from it.]

        {Deliver some vague threats and a few hundred bucks to a security guard.}

[In surprise, he looks up and sees Fiona's gone. He looks around the street, but she's nowhere in sight.]

        {If he's honest, he'll tell his boss, who then wonders who wasn't so honest.}

[He pulls out his cell phone and starts dialing.]

        {For the cost of a nice dinner, you can get a whole security team canned.}

CUT TO:

[Miami Beach. Day. On the sidewalk facing the beach, Sam buys two ice slushies from a vendor.]

SAM AXE: [giving the vendor money] Here you go, Rocky.

ROCKY: Okay, man

SAM AXE: Thank you.

[Taking the slushies, he walks over to the wall where Michael sits and hands him the slushie.]

SAM AXE: Mike, I gotta tell you, this is more fun than I expected.

[Michael looks at the slushie. hardly appetized.]

SAM AXE: I mean, I haven't done this sort of thing since, jeez, since there was an East Germany.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Glad you're enjoying yourself.

SAM AXE: So, how are things at home?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Little strange. Fiona likes to test relationships with the emotional equivalent of artillery fire.

SAM AXE: Does she even want this guy?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I don't know. I've never been able to figure her out.

SAM AXE: Well, I'm not one to tell you how to live your life.

[Sam's cell phone rings.]

SAM AXE: Hang on.

[He checks the caller ID.]

SAM AXE: Ah, it's our buddy Lawrence.

[He clears his throat and puts on his "all-business" voice.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] Charles Finley here. [listens] Yes? [listens] Well, I'm not sure if the offer still stands, but, uh, I can talk to him. [listens] No guarantees, but I'll do my best. Bye-bye.

[He hangs up.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: How'd it go?

SAM AXE: Good. I think we got him whipped into a pretty good lather, Mike. He wants to meet you at the hotel. I'll let him stew for a bit. Call him back when I'm done with my slushie.

[He takes a spoonful of his slushie.]

FADE TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Night.]

FADE TO:

[Hotel Victor. Night. A formal party is underway. Michael (as "Mr. Smith") strolls towards the well-stocked open bar. He is about to order a drink, when Henderson and a bodyguard approach him.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Mr. Smith, it's good to see you. We can have our meeting in my office.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I was about to leave town when Charles called. I'm happy to talk, but my conditions haven't changed.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Of course. We just have some issues with timing. Details. [motions] It's right this way.

[He starts walking. Michael, a bit apprehensively, follows him, followed gingerly by the bodyguard.]

        {One of the dangers of any kind of psychological warfare is it can be too effective and send the target into a paranoid tailspin.}

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: I have to thank you for telling me to check my security. We've had some problems at the house.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Happens all the time in this business. Better safe than sorry.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: I agree entirely.

[He opens a door and enters a room. Michael notices the appearance of another bodyguard. Michael follows Henderson into the room, flanked by the bodyguards.]

        {That paranoia can be useful... or deadly.}

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: At first, I thought it might be one of the Europeans I was talking to about the brooch, trying to rip me off. And then I thought that didn't make sense. So I said, "It might be Cristo."

[Michael knows that trouble isn't far off, seeing as another bodyguard as entered the mix. Henderson leads them into the next room. A beaten and bloodied Cristo sits, tied to a chair.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: So I brought him in.

[Henderson walks up to Cristo's side and looks arrogantly at Michael. The door closes behind Michael with an ominous creak and slam. Michael sees trouble smack in the face. The bodyguards hover menacingly around him. Henderson smilingly claps Cristo's shoulder. Cristo looks at Michael, a look of familiarity in his bruised face. Camera zooms in onto Michael's eyes.]

CUT TO:

[Hotel Victor, Back room. Night. Henderson stands next to Cristo, smiling cockily at Michael. Michael, knowing the danger he's in, looks around. He notices a ball-point pen on the table nearby, the emergency exit door and Henderson's pink necktie.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Listen, whatever he told you, whatever you think...

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: He has said some very interesting things about you.

[As he speaks, Henderson walks up to Michael. Big mistake! Michael grabs his tie with his left hand and the pen with his right. He yanks the tie upwards, rendering the over-confident hotel owner/thief into a gagging, helpless human shield. He moves towards the emergency exit door. The bodyguards pull out their guns and hold it trained on Michael. Michael presses the pen to Henderson's neck.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Five pounds of pressure on his carotid artery, he'll bleed out in twenty seconds.

BODYGUARD: [thumbing off the safety] Let him go.

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's not all you have to worry about.

[He pulls the tie upwards harder, causing Henderson to gasp for breath.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I could crush his windpipe with the tie if I'm not careful. [relaxes his hold on the tie] Oops. Back off. Back off!

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [terrified, to the bodyguards] Back off!!

[The bodyguards reluctantly lower their weapons.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [whispers into Henderson's ear] Next time, Lawrence, go limp. It's really hard to drag a human shield.

[Michael suddenly shoves Henderson away, hits the emergency exit handle (causing the alarm to go off) and races away. The bodyguards give chase, as Henderson gasps and seethes in rage.]

CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Night.]

THOMAS MCKEE: [vo] Jesus. I mean, he really tried to kill you?

CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Michael explains the situation to Fiona and a shocked Thomas.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: It didn't get that far, but it was heading in that direction, yeah.

THOMAS MCKEE: [stammering] I mean, w-w-what are you gonna do? I mean, h-he knows who you are.

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, he just knows I'm not who I said I was. Big difference. He still thinks we're gonna rip him off. He still thinks his security system is compromised. He's still got to move the brooch.

FIONA GLENANNE: And we've still gotta get him busted when he does.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We just need to figure out where he's taking it.

THOMAS MCKEE: [freaking out] Yeah, but how are we gonna do that?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I've got some friends.

[Thomas looks at Michael, then at Fiona. Fiona looks at him, reassuringly.]

FADE TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]

FADE TO:

[Bar. Day. Barry sits at the crowded counter, as Sam walks up and joins him.]

SAM AXE: There he is.

BARRY: Hey.

SAM AXE: [sits] How'd it go? You work your magic?

BARRY: Magic was made. You have something for me?

[Sam removes a pouch from his pocket and holds it out to Barry.]

SAM AXE: Michael wanted you to know that that was compliments of Cristo.

BARRY: [takes it] Whoooo-oo.

SAM AXE: [to the bartender] Tico, hit me. Bloody Mary.

[Barry opens the pouch and finds the Orange Sherbet diamond necklace which Michael took from Cristo.

BARRY: [satisfied] Yea-a-ah. In that case, Lawrence has accounts at five banks in the Miami area. Only one with a safe-deposit operation is Dade Trust, Downtown.

SAM AXE: Yeah, any good?

BARRY: Are you kidding? Best in Miami.

[Sam gets his Bloody Mary.]

SAM AXE: [to the bartender] Thank you.

BARRY: 'F he's moving that brooch, he'll go there.

SAM AXE: Nice. What else can you tell me about Dade Trust?

BARRY: You buying lunch?

[Sam jerks his head at Barry.]

SAM AXE: Hey, you're the money launder, for Christ's sake. Why do I have to buy lunch?

CUT TO:

[Parking Garage. Day. Michael waits patiently as the black Merc approaches, tires squealing as it negotiates a hard left. The Libyan suit jumps out of the car, same like last time, and strides up to Michael.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I know, I know. [mimics the suit's accent] Get in.

[He gets inside the back, without any extra help.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding up the head bag] Can we do it without the head bag? I hate the head bag.

[Anwar sits in the driver's seat. He adjusts the rear-view mirror to see Michael better.]

ANWAR: So, this information you have, we are interested.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And Philip Cowan?

ANWAR: Arrangements are being made.

[Michael pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to Anwar.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: That should give you what you need to find out who the team was that blew up your gas depot. Don't be gentle on them. They hurt a lot of innocent people.

ANWAR: The security services in my country are not known for being gentle.

[Michael smiles.]

ANWAR: Michael, if you ever want a job, real work, let us know.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm flattered, but I've got someplace to be.

[Anwar nods. Michael gets outside and walks off.]

CUT TO:

[Outside Henderson Estate. Day. Henderson walks into his white SUV, flanked by his bodyguards. A bodyguard holds the car door open for him.]

        {The key to good security is good systems, consistency. But those very systems make you predictable.}

[The bodyguard gets into the driver's seat and starts the SUV. They drive outside.]

            {Where will you take your valuables? A bank you trust. How're you going to get there? With armed men in a big SUV. When will you go? When the bank is least crowded. All good procedure, all one hundred percent predictable.}

[They drive past Michael's car. He calls Fiona.]          

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Fi, they're on their way.

CUT TO:

[Outside Dade Trust Bank. Day. People walk around the place. A bank security guard gives directions to a grateful pedestrian. In the building overlooking the bank (on the other side of the plaza), Sam waits in a balcony. His cell phone rings.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] Yo?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] All set, Sam?

SAM AXE: [into phone] I'm here. Good to go.

[He looks down, seeing the road, leading up to the bank.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Looks like they're taking the highway. They should be there in five.

SAM AXE: [into phone] All right. I'll call it in.

[He hangs up and takes out another cell phone and dials 911. He puts on a frightened voice.]

SAM AXE: [into phone, sounding scared] Yes, hello. Is this the police? Listen, [cups his hand to the mouthpiece] I'd like to report a bank robbery. Yes, it's at Dade Trust, Downtown. [whispering] I'm inside the building. I can't talk loud. There were men in an SUV with guns. Yes, they're here. Oh, my God. [breathing heavily] I have to go.

[He hangs up and picks up a sniper rifle.]

            {If you know someone's going to be at a bank at a particular time, it's not hard to make it look like they're robbing the bank. Shoot out a few video-surveillance cameras.}

[Sam sees a surveillance camera and, taking aim, shoots it out. The bank security guard reacts in surprise. People scatter in panic. Sam shoots out another one. People run for cover.]      

[On the road leading to the bank, Fiona swerves her (stolen) car in the way of other motorists, effectively blocking all movement on the road.]

            {Block off the street with a stolen car, like they're preparing an escape route.}

[She gets out of the car nonchalantly and runs away from the car. The angry motorists yell at her.]      

[On his perch, Sam opens up a small case and hits a button. A high-pitched sound is heard.]

            {Fire up a spark-gap transmitter to kill the security radios at the bank, and they'll really look like they know what they're doing.}

[The bank security guard tries to tune his radio receiver feverishly, but all he gets is static. As all this excitement is taking place, Henderson's SUV pulls up to the bank. He and his bodyguards exit, blissfully unaware of the commotion. Sam watches them. Henderson's cell phone rings. Checking caller ID, he laughs. He answers it.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [into phone] Mr. Smith, you're too late.

INTERCUT WITH: [A small distance away, Michael walks and speaks on his phone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] You sure? Check the top floor of the building behind you.

[Confused, Henderson looks up and sees Sam aiming a gun at them.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [panicked] Gun!

[His bodyguards draw their weapons and aim it towards Sam. Sam retreats quickly. Just then, police cruisers pull up, sirens blaring. As the cops get out and train their guns on Henderson and his bodyguards, Henderson puts the cell phone to his ear again.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] You'll like prison, Lawrence.

[Henderson grimaces.]

COP: Drop your weapon!

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] They got a lot of cool security systems.

[The bodyguards quickly drop their weapons and lie prone on the ground. Henderson holds his hands out, still standing, as the cops approach him.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

[The cops handcuff the bodyguards. A cop grabs him and turns him around and searches him.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: This is a mistake!

[The cop finds a satin cloth and pulls it out.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [retorting] That's mine, that's mine.

COP: What've we got here?

[He and another officer open up the cloth and find the diamond-studded spider brooch inside.

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: [adamantly] Th-that's mine. That's mine!

COP: Quiet! Turn around!

[The officer turns his back around and cuffs him behind his back.]

LAWRENCE HENDERSON: Ow...

[The officers lead him and his bodyguards away. Michael watches from a distance, feeling satisfied. Fiona approaches him.]

FIONA GLENANNE: All this to clear the name of an innocent man. That's noble. You should be proud.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [puts on his sunglasses] You know who I did this for, Fi.

[He starts to walk away. Fiona smiles brightly and bounds after him, walking with him.]

CUT TO:

[Parking Lot. Day. Fiona lies across the hood of Michael's Charger. Wayne Ray pulls up in his car. He gets out, hardly enthused, and walks towards her.]

WAYNE RAY: All right, I'm here. What couldn't you say over the phone?

FIONA GLENANNE: Bondsman won't have anything to do with me now that you've told him I was aiding and abetting.

[She pounds the hood of the car. Thomas exits the car, his hands plasticuffed. He starts walking towards Wayne, docilely.]

FIONA GLENANNE: So I was thinking, when you collect your bounty, maybe we could split it.

WAYNE RAY: [deadpan] Yeah, that's what you thought, huh? I wouldn't be expecting a check anytime soon. [to Thomas] C'mon.

FIONA GLENANNE: Consider it "I'm-sorry-I-brained-you-with-a-snow-globe" gift.

WAYNE RAY: Why'd you wait to turn him in?

FIONA GLENANNE: He was gonna pay us off, but his check bounced.

WAYNE RAY: [smiling widely] You're all heart, lady.

[Holding Thomas by the scruff of his neck, he leads him to his car, dialing a number on his cell phone.]

WAYNE RAY: C'mon. [into phone] Mr. Bragin, Wayne Ray here. I just collared McKee, and I'm hauling him in right now.

[Fast-paced music plays as Wayne learns that Thomas is no longer a wanted man. Hanging up, he looks at Thomas, who smiles back cockily and moves his hands apart (he had plasticuffs on both hands). Thomas laughs loudly at Wayne. Wayne juts his head menacingly towards him, sending him fleeing towards Fiona.]

WAYNE RAY: Real cute. Y'know, Fiona, next time...

FIONA GLENANNE: [cuts him off, unfazed] Yeah, yeah, yeah.

[She gets into the Charger. Wayne fumes.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Later, Wayne.

[Thomas gets inside the car. Wayne turns and pounds his fist into his palm in frustration.]

CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael stands quietly near the stairs, while Thomas walks downstairs and past him, carrying his socks. Looks like Thomas is on his way out.]

THOMAS MCKEE: I looked around for a washing machine. I was gonna do the sheets. [looks at Michael quizzically] How do you do laundry, man?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'll take care of it.

[Thomas nods. Michael's cell phone rings. He answers it.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Hello?

[An angry voice answers.]

PHILIP COWAN: [from phone] You think this is funny?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Who's this?

PHILIP COWAN: [from phone] This is Philip Cowan.

[Michael's eyes light up.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Nice to finally hear your voice.

PHILIP COWAN: [from phone, pissed] You wanna tell me what the head of the Libyan secret police is doing sending me a fruit basket? I got the FBI on my front lawn!

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone, intensely] Yeah, well, welcome to my world, and I'm just getting started. I'd love to see what we can get the North Koreans to send you, or Hezbollah, and it doesn't stop until you tell me why I was burned. I was set up, and I wanna know why.

[No answer.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone, venomously] Phil?

PHILIP COWAN: [from phone] I'll be in touch. Count on it.

[Michael hangs up. He looks upset. Behind him, Thomas looks at him.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Hey, man, if you got an important call, I can just clear out.

[Michael puts on a smile and turns to him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, it's fine.

[Thomas picks up his bag.]

FADE TO:

[Miami Beach. Day. Michael and Fiona accompany Thomas as he says goodbye.]

THOMAS MCKEE: My lawyer says my case is looking good, but I got to go clear it up in court tomorrow.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I would show up this time.

[Thomas smiles at him and Fiona. He fishes out an envelope and holds it.]

THOMAS MCKEE: [gratefully] So, eight grand doesn't seem like that much for what you guys did. But here.

[He hands it to Fiona.]

FIONA GLENANNE: You're sweet. Thank you.

[They smile at each other. Michael makes a face and walks to the back of the Charger and pops the trunk. Thomas decides to try his luck and leans in for a kiss, but Fiona turns her head, so he kisses her on the cheek.]

FIONA GLENANNE: You should go, Thomas. I'm not sure all the bounty hunters that are looking for you got the memo that you're off the hook. I wouldn't want you getting tasered in the middle of our nice moment.

[Thomas, a bit thrown off, looks at her and then at Michael, and understands. He smiles broadly at her.]

THOMAS MCKEE: Well... thanks.

[Collecting his bag, he leaves. Michael closes the hood and watches Thomas leave. He walks up to Fiona, his hands behind his back.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I got you something, too.

[He holds up a snowglobe. She removes her sunglasses and looks at it, trying not to look too touched. It's a "Welcome to Miami" snowglobe, with dolphins inside. She shakes it vigorously and almost hits Michael in the jaw. Wordlessly, she turns towards the passenger door and waits for Michael to open it for her. He does so and she gets in. They drive off.]

CUT TO:

[End credits.] FADE TO BLACK.

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