To Kill Again: Episode One (2 page)

RASTAFARIAN
: Fuck you, man.

The projectile spews out of the barrel and snakes toward the cop car. WHOOO --

INT. POLICE CAR (STATIONARY) - CONTINUOUS

-- OOOSH! The driver’s mirror aglow, Dyson and Sarah exchange terrified glances.

DYSON
: OUT!

But they’re just too slow. The next moment is their last.

EXT. DURWARD STREET, WHITECHAPEL - CONTINUOUS

KABOOM! The car explodes in a devastating fireball. We hold on the remains of the car, two burning figures clearly visible in the front seats.

There are no survivors
.

EXT. COMMERCIAL STREET, WHITECHAPEL - NIGHT

A convoy of ominous black vehicles race through the rain.

There’s an American big rig, a smaller truck and two ex-US school buses. All the vehicles have blacked-out windows and are sandwiched between two threateningly large SUVs.

The convoy slows, turning into a narrow, darkened street. A rusted sign on one wall reads --

COLBART STREET

The convoy stops outside a huge, dilapidated Victorian warehouse daubed with graffiti.

Immediately, a dozen men in unmarked windcheaters and baseball caps eject and a well-orchestrated operation begins.

One of the men smashes the huge double doors of the warehouse open with a police-issue battering ram.

Another fires up some kind of futuristic laser cutter, slicing through the brickwork next to the doors to widen the entrance. Men immediately set to work with sledgehammers to take down the remaining wall.

More men nail gun metal sheeting over every broken window.

48 seconds later one of the men gives a thumbs up. The smaller vehicles all pull into the darkened --

WAREHOUSE

Park up right at the end.

Then the big rig begins to reverse in, easy now the doorway’s widened. It stops with a hiss of brakes, men joining prefabricated metal walls between its protruding cab and the warehouse wall.

Whatever these people are doing, they sure as hell don’t want anyone seeing it.

As men position portable floodlights all around, which immediately start to snap on, the whole side of the big rig’s trailer begins to slide out on hydraulics; doubling its internal size.

One MAN takes off his baseball cap to reveal a grim, gaunt face. It’s the kind of face that instantly tells us that this guy’s in charge. And that he’s a ball breaker.

He yells out to the other men with an American accent:

MAN
: Move it, people! You know the drill. Claws, reactor, power tap, chronology sync, immediate prep and test fire in two hours. I want to be ready to rock at... (checks watch) ...zero-seven hundred. At the latest.

He watches for a moment as they set to it and then pops the cap from a plastic pill bottle. Shakes a large tablet into his mouth.

And as he does that, the man with the laser cutter begins to slice into the concrete floor below.

INT. DETECTIVE’S OFFICE, POLICE STATION - DAY

A dozen detectives work their latest case. Some sit at computers, some at phones. One wipes clean a white board. Begins to stick up photos of Durward Street.

SCREEN TITLE: WHITECHAPEL POLICE STATION. THE NEXT DAY

One man steps up at their head. An exhausted, glum Detective Sergeant. JERRY MATTHEWS, 40s, clears his throat.

MATTHEWS
: Right, well I guess this falls to me. For now.

The detectives stop and turn to him.

MATTHEWS
: Two bodies. You all know who they --

A text message steals his words. He pulls his cell phone.

CLOSE UP: ‘BAILIFFS R HERE AGAIN!!!’

Matthews sighs and replies: ‘NOT NOW!’ He tosses the cell phone on the nearest desk. Gets back into it.

MATTHEWS
: Sorry... Two bodies.

INT. CORRIDOR, POLICE STATION - CONTINUOUS

CLOSE UP: pant legs and boots. A man and woman’s. In a hurry.

MATTHEWS
: (O.S.) They’re with the path lab. I’m pushing for a preliminary ASAP, but cause of death seems pretty conclusive so far.

CLOSE UP: a man’s hand reaches for a door.

INT. DETECTIVE’S OFFICE, POLICE STATION - DAY

The double doors swing open as Matthews makes a gun with his fingers...

MATTHEWS
: Both single tapped in the head from close range.

...and Dyson and Sarah rush in. Both clearly exhausted but...
very much alive
!

DYSON
:
Morning all!

What the fuck
?!

A chorus of salutations greet Dyson and Sarah as they peel themselves out of their soaked jackets. Matthews nods and gladly hands the floor to Dyson.

DYSON
: Yeah, so Mickey Dennis and Ronnie Richards. Khan’s boys. Didn’t have a very good night. This was a professional hit.

He looks at Sarah.

DYSON
: Guy dressed all in black?

Sarah concurs with a nod.

DYSON
: The shell case he missed is with ballistics as we speak.

A black detective, GARY KNAPPER, 30’s, nods at him.

KNAPPER
: So what happened, guv? Walk us through it.

Dyson flashes Sarah a brief sideways glance.

DYSON
: We were in the car. Talking.

Sarah returns his look awkwardly.

SARAH
: Just talking.

FLASHBACK - INT. POLICE CAR (STATIONARY) - NIGHT

Dyson and Sarah’s argument. Becoming more and more heated.

SARAH
: I
loved
you!

DYSON
: You never said it. Not once.

SARAH
: I never... You could’ve given more!

DYSON
: More! What the hell did you want me to do?!

SARAH
: I wanted commitment. Marriage. Kids. I wanted
you
. But you were always too tied up with work or Alan bloody Dyson to notice.

DYSON
: (O.S.) We hadn’t even noticed their car. Until it was too late.

FLASHBACK - INT. SHITTY JALOPY (STATIONARY) - CONTINUOUS

The Geezer considers their options.

GEEZER
: Frankie don’t want no screw ups. Fuck it, kill ‘em.

The Rastafarian floods the car with cannabis smoke and cheers.

RASTAFARIAN
: Ya man! Let’s cook us some bacon.

He reaches behind his seat. Pulls out a disposable rocket launcher. He winds down the window, manoeuvring his torso into the rain.

GEEZER
: Try not to miss!

FLASHBACK - EXT. DURWARD STREET, WHITECHAPEL - CONTINUOUS

The Rastafarian laughs as his finger flips up the safety. Tightens on the trigger.

RASTAFARIAN
: Fuck --

Startled by something, he turns his head.

CLOSE UP: looks straight down the barrel of an automatic held by --

DYSON
: (O.S.) A figure dressed in black fatigues. He even had a Balaclava on.

RASTAFARIAN
: Who the --

BANG! The man in black shoots the Rastafarian in the face, killing him instantly.

The ejected shell case bounces on the wet tarmac. Rolls under the car.

FLASHBACK - INT. POLICE CAR (STATIONARY) - CONTINUOUS

SARAH
: John Dyson. Scared to commit!

DYSON
: Scared to commit? How could I commit when I never ever got what I needed to hear. Never. Not once.

A single gunshot cracks on the wet air.

SARAH
: And why do you think that was?! You knew! You knew I --

Dyson throws his hand over Sarah’s mouth, snapping his head round to look through the rear window.

DYSON
: Call back up!

He draws an automatic from within his jacket. Throws open the door.

FLASHBACK - INT. SHITTY JALOPY (STATIONARY) - CONTINUOUS

GEEZER
: Motherfucker!

He tugs an automatic from his pants, but he’s too slow. The figure leans in and fires -- BANG! -- catching the spent case in his hand as the Geezer’s head ruptures.

DYSON
: (O.S.) STOP! POLICE!

FLASHBACK - EXT. DURWARD STREET, WHITECHAPEL - CONTINUOUS

The figure looks at Dyson charging toward him --

DYSON
: STOP POLICE!

-- dropping to his knees.

CLOSE UP: outstretched fingers flail around under the car for the stray shell case.

DYSON
: (O.S.) But he couldn’t get it.

The figure jumps up, launching into an Olympic-worthy sprint. Too quick for Dyson. He stops at the car. Aims fast -- BANG-BANG-BANG!

The figure jumps and swerves as brickwork explodes all around. Nevertheless, he charges onward and disappears from view.

DYSON
: Fuck...

He glances in at the two bodies. Pulls a face at the mess.

END FLASHBACK

And we’re back on Dyson.

DYSON
: So who did it? Rival gang?

A room full of uncomfortable faces stare back at him.

DYSON
: What, nothing?

DETECTIVE
: Not a sausage, guv.

From another:

DETECTIVE #2
: Who’s fucking mad enough to take on Frankie Khan?

DYSON
: Good question, add it to the rest. Top of that list: there was half a million on the back seat. Nice little bonus for the shooter. Why didn’t he take it?

DETECTIVE #3
: You scared him off?

DYSON
: No, he could’ve took me down. Gone for the hat-trick. He wasn’t in this for the money.

Thunder rolls, shaking the windows.

SARAH
: (joking) Why didn’t we take the money?

Everybody chuckles as Dyson points at two detectives congregating at the nearest desk.

DYSON
: Nick, Tony, I want Khan brought in. See what he knows about his
ex-employees
.

Trainee Detective Constable TONY ROBSON, 20’s, a fresh-faced pup in his first week in CID, holds his hand up.

ROBSON
: Khan wouldn’t blow his own people away would he, Detective Inspector?

Sarah throws him a ‘How little you know’ look.

DYSON
: Jerry?

Face etched with concern, Matthews is too engrossed in his cell phone problems to hear.

DYSON
: Jerry?!

MATTHEWS
: Guv?

DYSON
: Take a couple of lads. I want Khan’s offices searched, see what you can turn up.

MATTHEWS
: Um, yeah. We’re gonna need a warrant.

DYSON
: So get one. Barry, bring in my grass. He set this up. He gives you any shit,
remind him how well child molesters are regarded inside.

Detective Constable BARRY HENDERSON, 30’s, scratches his head.

HENDERSON
: Sticky Dave ain’t a nonce, guv.

DYSON
: Yeah, well we know that... (beat) Any questions?

Detective Sergeant JIM MITCHELL, 30’s, steps up with a confident swagger.

MITCHELL
: Yeah...

He throws a thumb back at Dyson’s glass walled office, to where the ball breaker from last night sits rigidly. Waiting.

MITCHELL
: Who’s the stiff?

INT. DYSON’S OFFICE, POLICE STATION - MOMENTS LATER

The door opens. Dyson enters. Gives his visitor a wary once over.

The ball breaker stands and clears his throat, regarding Dyson with demeaning eyes.

MAN
: Detective Inspector Dyson?

Dyson nods. Extends a friendly hand.

DYSON
: Acting Detective Inspector, it’s only temporary. You’re American.

The Man doesn’t reciprocate the gesture.

MAN
: I can see why they promoted you.

Not a good start. Dyson retracts his hand with a scowl.

DYSON
: What can I do for you?

The Man takes a moment to look out over the office beyond. Everyone busy and out of earshot, he returns to Dyson. Drops a bombshell.

MAN
: Detective Dyson, you’re dead.

DYSON
: What?

MAN
: Or at least you should be.

DYSON
: What...

MAN
: I assume that I’ve suitably grabbed your attention. My name is Brad Ratski. I work for the United States government.

DYSON
: United States... What? Which department?

MAN/RATSKI
: That isn’t important. To the men and women outside of this office, I’m Special Agent Michael Ackerman with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We’re
liaising
. That’s all you’re permitted to say. Are we clear on that?

DYSON
: No. I’m not clear on anything right now. Who the hell are you?

RATSKI
: You’re to accompany me immediately. You have a very important appointment.

DYSON
: Who with?

RATSKI
: I’m not at liberty to discuss that at present.

He opens the door. Dyson slams it shut.

INT. DETECTIVE’S OFFICE, POLICE STATION - CONTINUOUS

BANG! Several detectives jump. Look over.

INT. DYSON’S OFFICE, POLICE STATION - CONTINUOUS

DYSON
: I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but this is England. You know fish and chips, rain and football. You guys don’t own it. Not yet. So unless you start giving me some answers, I’ll have you nicked for obstructing a police investigation, wasting police time. Whatever you like.

Jaw tight, Ratski relents. Gives a curt nod.

RATSKI
: Very well, Detective Dyson. Your appointment is with... the President of the United States.

INT. SUV (MOVING) - DAY

Neither Dyson or Ratski utter a single word. Lost in thought, Dyson stares from the window at the rain-lashed London streets.

EXT. DORCHESTER HOTEL, MAYFAIR - DAY

The SUV pulls up in the parking lot. Dyson and Ratski step out into the rain, darting under the cover of the main entrance. A doorman scuttles forward and opens the door for them.

INT. CORRIDOR, DORCHESTER HOTEL - MOMENTS LATER

The whole floor’s lined with Secret Service AGENTS in matching suits. Dyson and Ratski make their way up to an impressive set of wooden doors. Two Agents stand either side. One steps up, holding out his hand to Dyson.

AGENT
: I’ll need to take your firearm, sir.

Dyson glances at Ratski.