Returnable - draft 3 (10 pages)

Returnable - feature screenplay by Stone Korshak

               INT. JFK AIRPORT INTERNATIONAL ARRIVAL GATE - MORNING

               Weary overnight passengers disembark through the airline gate
               marked Arrival: Kuala Lumpur.  The florescent lights
               encouraging the pale early morning of the deserted terminal.

               SHANE moves slow, a tall well-built Asian man, mid-30's,
               dressed in a crumpled oxford, jeans, and big reflective
               sunglasses.

               Ambitious travellers brush past him, striding down the long
               corridor towards a distant sign marked Immigration.

               INT. JFK AIRPORT INTERNATIONAL IMMIGRATION COUNTER - MORNING

               Shane steps forward, takes off his sunglasses, and squints
               wearily as he hands his papers to the IMMIGRATION OFFICER, a
               45 year old white man with red hair, red mustache, and pink
               freckles.

                                   IMMIGRATION OFFICER
                         How long have you been home?

                                   SHANE
                             (rubs his eyes)
                         I was in Malaysia for almost a
                         year.

                                   IMMIGRATION OFFICER
                         What were you studying there?

                                   SHANE
                         Religion and ethics.

               The Officer spends a few moments looking from his computer
               screen, to Malaysian Passport to Shane. Shane stares back
               blankly. 

                                   IMMIGRATION OFFICER
                         What are you studying at Columbia?

                                   SHANE
                         Law.

               The Officer and Shane continue their staring contest

                                   IMMIGRATION OFFICER
                         Welcome back.

               Shane moves through the Immigration station, putting his
               sunglasses back on.

               INT. JFK AIRPORT BAGGAGE CLAIM - DAY

               Shane stands apart from the international crowd around the
               luggage dispenser, all silently watching the CLANKING
               rotation of the conveyer belt.

               INT. CAR SERVICE - DAY

               In the back seat of a town car Shane stares out the window at
               the passing SUVs and billboards for mutual funds and alcohol.

               The DRIVER is a thick 50-something Slavic man with pasty skin
               and an uneven haircut.  He glances at Shane in his mirror
               without smiling.

               He jams the breaks and swerves the car.

                                   DRIVER
                          Svoloch' zhopa.

               EXT. YELLOW TAXI (CAR SERVICE POV) - CONTINUOUS

               A yellow taxi cuts in front of them as the highway traffic
               opens up, tail lights racing the early dawn commute.

               They speed up, accelerating and pulling alongside the yellow
               taxi.

               The Yellow Taxi Driver is Indian, in his 30's with a large
               head wrap and mustache.

                                   DRIVER (CONT'D)
                             (off camera)
                         Ni khuya sebe!

               The Yellow Taxi Driver looks over and flips his middle
               finger, mouthing some unfriendly words, then speeds ahead.  

                                   DRIVER (CONT'D)
                             (off camera)
                         Idi na khui!

               They race past the yellow taxi again.

               INT. CAR SERVICE - CONTINUOUS

               Shane is shaken alert by the violent movements of the car.

               The Driver glances in the mirror at him again in triumph.

                                   DRIVER
                             (Russian accent)
                         Fucking Indians, can't drive shit,
                         always talking on phone.
                             (pause)
                         In Ukraine, everybody drives when
                         drive, not talking phone like
                         woman.

               Shane affords a smile.

               The Driver smiles back.

                                   DRIVER (CONT'D)
                         Long flight?

                                   SHANE
                         28 hours.

                                   DRIVER
                         Here for visit?

                                   SHANE
                         I live here. I went home for
                         awhile, but... now I'm back.

               They drive a bit more in silence.

                                   DRIVER
                         In Ukraine, I was an engineer, but
                         I never go back for nothing.

               Shane notices the prison tattoos on the Driver's hand, leans
               back and gazes out the window again.

                                   SHANE
                         People change.

               EXT. YELLOW TAXI (CAR SERVICE POV) - CONTINUOUS

               The yellow taxi WHIZZES by them again, the Indian Driver
               smiling triumphantly.

                                   DRIVER
                             (Off Camera)
                         LET'S GO MOTHER FUCKER!

               INT. CAR SERVICE - CONTINUOUS

               Shane leans his head back as the car ACCELERATES.

                                                               FADE IN:

               EXT. CLUB ENTRANCE - NIGHT

               CHEYENNE is radiant, tall, black, slender in her early 30's,
               wearing a slinky dress and a glowing smile and long straight
               black hair in a ponytail.

               She smiles to the Doorman as he opens the velvet rope for her
               to leave, and the to-late-night crowd parts for her
               enviously.

               She walks to Shane, who waits for her with a cigarette.

                                   CHEYENNE
                         You okay baby?

               Shane smiles and looks into her eyes encouragingly.

                                   SHANE
                         Yeah.

               AMBER joins them, also in her early 30's, shorter, white,
               with more curves and too much makeup.

                                   CHEYENNE
                         The guys gonna meet us there?

               Shane nods while making eye contact with a CLUB GUY, white,
               6'2" with well groomed dark hair.  He is watching from a few
               feet away, drunk, angry, and leering at Cheyenne and Amber.

                                   SHANE
                         Come'on, let's get a cab on the
                         corner.

               The Club Guy is suddenly too close to Amber.

                                   CLUB GUY
                         Hey, got a smoke for me?

               Amber rolls her eyes, takes another drag of her half smoked
               cigarette and hands it to him.

                                   AMBER
                         Here.

               The Club Guy is not impressed as Shane, Cheyenne and Amber
               start to walk away.

                                   GUY
                         What's your problem bitch?

               Amber turns, HACKS up a loogey, and spits - flying 10 feet
               slowly in the air to land on the Club Guy's crotch.

               The Guy looks from his jeans to Amber.

               Shane steps close to him shaking his head with his palms up.

                                   SHANE
                         Man, really sorry about that,
                         that's nasty. Let's just call it a
                         night okay.
                             (backing away)
                         Really, sorry.

               Shane leads the girls down the street by their arms, leaving
               the Club Guy stunned.

               EXT. CITY STREET CORNER - CONTINUOUS

               Shane is looking for a cab as they walk to the suddenly quiet
               corner, it's dark and all the cabs are taken.

                                   CHEYENNE
                         That was so gross, I can't believe
                         you.

                                   AMBER
                             (lights another smoke)
                         What?  He was an asshole.

               Shane sees the Club Guy following them across the street.

                                   SHANE
                         Where's a damn cab?

               The Club Guy decides to pick up a half-full metal-mesh
               garbage can and starts walking towards them.

               The girls are stunned, watching the Club Guy cross the dark
               street, straining with the weight of the garbage can.

               Shane, with cold intensity in his eyes, walks to intercept
               him. As he gets closer to the Club Guy he CLAPS his hands.

                                   SHANE (CONT'D)
                         LET'S GO MOTHER FUCKER!

               The Guy DROPS the trash can, raises his fists.

               Shane walks straight to the larger man, gives a head fake,
               then PUNCHES the square in the chin.

               The Guy teeters, stumbles three steps sideways, and then
               falls down.

               Shane circles, and the Guy tries to kick him away, but Shane
               moves in, kneeling, and starts landing PUNCH after PUNCH into
               his face.

               Blood starts flowing, as Shane is now PUNCHING with both
               fists, alternating, mechanical focus, as the Guy starts
               SCREAMING.

                                   CLUB GUY
                         STOP! PLEASE!

               Shane keeps POUNDING, and blood pours from cuts around his
               eyes and nose.

                                   CLUB GUY (CONT'D)
                         STOP, STOP!

               Cheyenne's hands reach to pull at Shane's shoulders.

                                   CHEYENNE
                         Stop fighting back.

               The Club Guy goes limp, and Cheyenne pulls Shane, slowly he
               stops and backs away.

               A few people have gathered, standing around looking, the Club
               Guy lays in the middle of the street.

               INT. CHINATOWN RESTAURANT - NIGHT 

               Amber SNORTS a bump of cocaine from Cheyenne's wrist.

               Shane drinks a beer, looks across the mostly empty Chinese
               restaurant. A few tables of other late-night customers try to
               ignore them.

               Shane's cool gaze falls on the owner, SMILEY, an ancient
               Chinese man, skinny, bald except the slick black-dyed hair on
               the sides, with a constant frown.

                                   CHEYENNE
                         Baby, you all right?

               Shane nods and flexes his hand, and looks at his table.

               COOPER drinks Budweiser, white with light brown hair, rugged
               shoulders, 30's, drunk with smiling eyes.

               TONY, 30's, white with dark hair and eyes, lights up a
               cigarette, followed by AMIR, also 30's, Persian coloring with
               a square jaw.

                                   COOPER
                         Can't believe I missed it.

                                   AMBER
                         I've working in strip clubs for ten
                         years, I never seen a beat down
                         like that.

               Tony's phone vibrates and he looks at the message, flashes
               three fingers at Shane.

                                   COOPER
                         What's he gonna do with a garbage
                         can?

               Shane glances at his watch and nods slightly, still tracking
               Smiley.

                                   CHEYENNE
                         Who knows, but as soon as Shane hit
                         him that first time, he knew he was
                         in trouble.

               Amir hands Tony something, and Tony gets up and walks
               outside.

                                   AMBER
                         "Let's go Mother-Fucker!"
                             (claps and mock swings)
                         Bam, bam, bam.

                                   AMIR
                         What's the clap?

                                   CHEYENNE
                         He always claps.

               The pretty young Chinese Waitress flashes Shane flirtatious
               eyes as she fills the table with bowls and plates of food.

                                   SHANE
                         No I don't.

               Shane affords a brief smile as he watches out the window.

               EXT. CHINATOWN STREET (WINDOW POV) - CONTINUOUS

               Tony is standing on the quiet street corner smoking, as a
               flow of Asians pass by, all carrying small white plastic
               bags.

                                   CHEYENNE
                             (off camera)
                         You always clap your hands, it's
                         weird.

               A car pulls up and Tony leans into the car and hands off
               something, exchanging it for money.

                                   CHEYENNE (CONT'D)
                             (off camera)
                         That guy had no idea what he was
                         getting in to. You fool people,
                         acting all calm.

               The car drives away, Tony finishes his cigarette and heads
               towards the restaurant.

                                   CHEYENNE (CONT'D)
                             (off camera)
                         They don't see you coming, 'til
                         it's too late.

               INT. CHINATOWN RESTAURANT - CONTINUOUS

               Shane SNIFFS some cocaine from his keys, and Cheyenne checks
               his nose for residue.

                                   SHANE
                         Well, that happened.

               Shane's phone RINGS as Tony walks back to the table and sits
               down, starts eating.

               Shane looks at the incoming call number curiously and answers
               hesitantly.

                                   SHANE
                             (into phone)
                         Hello... No, I'm up.
                             (exhales long)
                         When?... When!?
                             (hangs head in hand)
                         Tomorrow... Tomorrow morning.

               Shane hangs up staring at nothing on the table, everyone
               watches him afraid to ask.

                                   CHEYENNE
                         What is it?

               Shane keeps his head down, doesn't answer for a long time.

                                   COOPER
                         What's up Shane?

               Shane looks at all of them slowly, uncertain, defensive.

                                   SHANE
                         My father died.

               INT. CAR SERVICE - DAY

               The Driver turns to glance back, the car is stopped.

                                   DRIVER
                         This it?

               Shane pauses, takes off his sunglasses and rubs his eyes,
               looks out the window.

               EXT. SHANE AND CHEYENNE'S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS

               Shane gets out with his luggage and walks across the quiet
               East Village street, lined with trees and stoops and garbage.

               In the lower level of an Brownstone entrance stands GUITAR
               GUY, white, in his late 50's, about 5 feet tall with long
               matted hair under a Harley-Davidson bandanna, an electric
               guitar and a small amplifier set up next to him. 

               As Shane walks by Guitar Guy, in dramatic rock'n roll style,
               he pounds out a RIFF.

                                   SHANE
                         Yo. How 'bout you play that
                         somewhere else?

                                   GUITAR GUY
                         How 'bout you go fuck yourself?!

               INT. SHANE AND CHEYENNE'S APARTMENT - DAY

               Shane unlocks the door, and enters the large, dark and quiet
               apartment with sparse chic furniture and a few days of
               clutter.

               Without turning the lights on he puts his bags down and
               fingers through a stack of mail, bills for Lee Shan Peng.  

               Then he opens the refrigerator. Empty except for leftover
               takeout containers and some Heineken beer.

               He opens a beer, hesitates, smells it, then puts it down.

               INT. SHANE AND CHEYENNE'S APARTMENT BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

               Shane walks in the bedroom, shades drawn and some clothes
               strewn around the room. 

               He picks up a red dress and studies the fabric closely, then
               smells it.

               He looks at pictures of Cheyenne and Tony and Amir, Cheyenne
               and Tony, and Tony.

               Shane sits on the unmade bed, sees a note in delicate
               handwriting: Had to help Mom today, see you at club later?

               INT. SHANE AND CHEYENNE'S APARTMENT BATHROOM - DAY

               With the lights low the shower RUNS. 

               Shane stands wearily under the water, eyes closed.

               INT. SHANE AND CHEYENNE'S APARTMENT BEDROOM - DAY

               Shane's watch BEEPS as he comes out of the bathroom in his
               towel.  He clears some space on the floor, faces Mecca,
               raises his hands to head level, palms facing out and forward,
               and mumbles.

                                   SHANE
                         Allah Akbar. Allah Akbar. Allah
                         Akbar. Allah Akbar.