An organized crime operation has the police chasing drugs when a much larger danger is at the root.
Author: Sir Russell Shepard
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I/E. TOWNHOUSE/VARIOUS – DAY
Messy. Dirty even. A rusty ceiling fan groans. A large baggie
of pills sits atop a cluttered coffee table. A roach crawls
up the bag, seeks entrance.
The front door CRASHES open, BOUNCES off the wall, and back
into the face of LEWIS, 20s, a wiry, tattooed skinhead with
He GRABS the door, SMASHES it closed against a size twelve
foot wedged in the frame.
AHH! Son of a bitch!
Lewis GRABS the bag from the table, RACES up a flight of
protesting wooden stairs.
The door swings open. MIKE DOWNEY, 30s, LIMPS inside, pissed.
A big man, stuffed into a too small suit. His nostrils flare,
the veins in his neck threaten to burst.
FOOTSTEPS RUNNING upstairs. Mike grits his teeth, glares up
the stairs. He takes off in pursuit, two steps at a time.
JOE NASH, 30s, calmly steps through the door. Stylish,
manicured, well groomed dark hair, clean shaven.
Nash is observant, yet distant. Lively eyes take in every
detail with cool calculation, yet his face is a mask of
detachment, barely conceals the pain beneath the surface.
He glances upstairs, into the kitchen, turns and walks out.
Lewis runs down a short hallway into a–
At the front. He JUMPS across a pile of filthy clothes,
SHOVES a bed away from the window.
He TEARS the curtains aside, GRABS the window. He spots Nash
out front, calmly looking up at him.
He RUNS back into the–
Where Downey nears the top of the stairs.
Lewis PLUMMETS down the short hallway, CLENCHES the rail,
DRIVES his foot into Downey’s chest.
Downey STAGGERS down a few steps before gaining his balance
against the wall. He starts back up, pulling out his gun as–
DARTS into a–
At the back, SLAMS the door shut, and RACES to the window. He
THROWS it open, looks outside, wild eyed, panting for breath.
He climbs out onto the rear porch roof, SHUFFLES across the
loose shingles like a crab, DROPS into the back yard.
Lewis RACES for the back fence as–
Climbs from the window, takes one step.
The shingle SLIPS from under his foot. Down he goes. He
TUMBLES across the short roof, FALLS over the edge.
Lewis LAUNCHES himself at the fence, KICKS off from a Weber
grill, up and over.
Downey gets to his feet, RUNS to the fence, JUMPS, both hands
grabbing the top. He PUSHES himself up, THROWS a leg over,
FALLS into a small kiddy pool in the next yard.
A LARGE DOG is cabled to the porch, BARKS furiously at Lewis,
who gives the dog a wide berth, makes his way to the gate.
Downey drags himself from the pool, RACES across the lawn on
an intercept course.
The dog turns it’s attention to Downey.
Downey sees the dog, SKIDS to a stop as the dog LUNGES,
stopped just short of taking a piece out of Downey’s crotch.
Downey BACKS away.
Lewis UNSNAPS the dog from the porch, heads out the gate,
closes it behind him.
The dog TEARS after Downey, who SPRINTS for the fence.
AT THE SAME TIME
Lewis runs across the front yard, RACES down the tree lined
sidewalk toward the corner.
Nash STEPS from behind a tree, EXTENDS a leg.
Lewis TRIPS, SPRAWLS across the sidewalk, his bag BURSTS open
on the cement. Pills SCATTER across the grass. Out cold.
Nash mechanically pulls cuffs from his belt, grabs Lewis by
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