Christopher M£Quarrie
Based on the novel by Lee Child
The sound of hand tools; metal exerting rhythmic pressure on metal. FADE UP ON:
EXTREME CLOSE-UPS: Polished brass, gleaming copper, black sand, mottled wrought-iron painted red.
A GNARLED HAND, thumbnail partially blackened - maybe it was slammed in a car door, hit with a hammer - pulls a lever, driving something home:
KA-SHUNK
Moving toward a city that could be anywhere. Populated by anybody. Even you. Motionless construction cranes dominate the skyline.
TILT DOWN SLOWLY: Moving over the highway, following traffic into the city.
PUSH IN SLOWLY ON: A VAN - it's always a van - pacing slower than the rest of the morning traffic. No rush.
Cuts are occasionally punctuated with that sound O.S:
Kil-SHUNK
DRIVER'S P.O,V. of the downtown skyline, dead ahead. Our eyes lock on a traffic camera - the sort you see a thousand times a day but never notice ...
But the Driver notices every one. The cameras, meanwhile, see only the endless flow of traffic, mindlessly logging the mundane until future events will make it critically relevant.
Those gnarled hands gently tap a ball-peen hammer to an awl. They measure precise amounts of black sand,
The van pulls in. A camera sees it, doesn't care.
PUSHING IN SLOWLY, on the back of the OWNER OF THE GNARLED HANDS, hunched over a workbench. His body prevents us from seeing the object of his methodical task. Measuring, tapping, pulling the lever ...
Kil-SHUNK
The van spirals upward to the penultimate level - every spot full. The garage is in two sections - one old and packed, the other new and empty - still under construction - cordoned off by yellow tape reading:
CAUTION: DO NOT CROSS
E.C.U. ON: A traffic cone, blocking a parking spot for no evident reason. Sheep don't ask why - they park elsewhere. The van just runs over the cone:
KA-SHUNK. The Driver's door opens, crepe-soled shoes step out. A sound of a zipper o.s. The door slams:
KA-SHUNK. Follow the feet leaving faint prints in the dust on the concrete floor. Something metal - long, black, thin - is hidden behind the Driver's leg.
E.C.U. On a quarter dropped in a parking meter.
KA-SHUNK. Thirty minutes.
Tracking those feet again. The Driver bends down to cross from old section to new under the yellow tape:
E.C.U. on the Driver's shoulder, clad in a light nylon windbreaker, as it brushes a concrete pylon.
The Driver emerges from the shadows at the edge of the garage, looking out at the world below.
We get a good look at his plain, placid face before he puts on sunglasses to shield his eyes from the glare. He checks his watch, steps back into the shadows, opens the rifle's action: KA-
-SHUNK as the gnarled hands drive that lever home, removing a single, freshly minted .308 caliber rifle- round from a press, placing it in a box of five more.
-SHUNK as the rifle's action slams the bullet home:
DRIVER'S P.O.V. SUPER WIDE ANGLE looking down on an outdoor mall. Low-lying office buildings, shops, the DMV, a long reflecting pool catching the morning light. People like mice. Like roaches ...
The Driver takes a deep breath, lets it out, takes another, lets it out ... He shoulders the weapon.
A RIFLE SCOPE invades our P.O.V. and we are transported to the mall below. The nondescript is now the intimate. The reticle wanders, letting people drift through, catching A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN with a valise as she passes the fountain, letting her go.
All we hear now is the Driver's measured breathing; in ... out ... in ...
The reticle settles on a YOUNG WOMAN. She's not trying to look good, but she does - shorts, white shirt, black bra. She eats an ice-cream cone.
The reticle caresses her, ogles her breasts, follows the curve of her back to find a YOUNG GIRL (age 6) holding the Young Woman's hand, eating a push-up. The reticle drifts back up to the Young Woman's head, settles on her temple ... leads her a little.
The breathing stops ... She's dead.
But then she walks behind a kiosk - gone - a lost opportunity. The breathing patiently resumes ... The reticle settles on A BUSINESSMAN seated on a bench, sipping coffee. The breathing stops ...
You are made to wait. You are made to watch.
KA-CRACK - The scope jumps, settling on pink mist as the Businessman crumbles out of frame. Half a second later his coffee cup lands behind the bench.
The breathing resumes, the reticle wanders. Some people are still walking. Others look toward the Businessman, momentarily confused.
The scope finds the Middle-Aged Woman again, oblivious to the dead man twenty yards behind her. The breathing stops ...
KA-CR.4CK - The scope jumps, the woman's valise throwing papers into the air. The reticle moves faster now. Smart people are running. Dumber ones - sheep - walk backward in shock.
KA-CRACK/CR.4CK/CRACK - A flash of white as a bullet gashes the calm of reflecting pool.
The rapidly moving reticle discovers the Pretty Young Woman again, running away, that Little Girl in her arms. The reticle rapidly debates which one to take, finally choosing ...
CR.4CK - The scope comes down, sucking us back to the parking garage. We can make out five splayed bodies - five plumes of blood baking in the sun. A CHILD'S DISTANT SCREAM reaches our ears.
The Driver turns calmly, sees six bullet shells scattered on the floor. As he collects them, one-by- one, we notice his hands are wrapped in latex.
E.C.U. As his gloved hand picks up one shell, his crepe-soled shoe kicks another.
TRACK BACK SWIFTLY as the shell rolls toward a joint between two concrete slabs - one old, one new.
PLUNK - The shell drops into the joint.
CLOSE ON: The Driver, frozen, considering the shell for a moment, then quickly walking away.
CLOSE ON: Those crepe soles climbing in the van.
CLOSE ON: the traffic cone dragging as the van backs toward us, drops into drive and cruises away, leaving the cone behind, crumbled and apparently meaningless.
The van spirals down, tires squealing. It skids to a halt, nearly hitting an oncoming car. Precious seconds are consumed trying to navigate to the exit.
The edge of the garage looking down at the mall. We could swear this first victim, the Businessman, is sitting up on the bench again, his head obscured by a blinding red light in our eyes.
Sure enough, the Businessman is sitting on the bench - though still dead. TWO COPS IN SWAT GEAR kneel behind the bench. One Swat Guy props the Businessman up from behind, using his head wound as reference. The other Swat Guy shines a laser pointer at the garage.
The laser flits like an insect on the ceiling.
The stairwell door burst open. SIX MEN IN SWAT GEAR enter rapidly and fan out. A DETECTIVE (40s) enters behind them, pistol in hand. But his posture quickly slackens when something catches his eye. As the SWAT guys clear the garage, the Detective holsters his weapon and squats by that traffic cone ...
His radio chatters. He shuts it off. He shines a flashlight across the floor, follows the arching drag marks in the dust to an empty parking spot.
The same light exposes footprints. Crouching in the parking spot, the Detective follows the prints with his eyes, past the caution tape, past the pillar. Then he glances at:
CLOSE ON: The parking meter. Three minutes on it.
At the ledge where the Driver opened fire now, the Detective looks down at the eerily silent mall. Five bodies are covered in sheets. The reflecting pool is being drained by the FIRE DEPARTMENT. REVEAL:
The garage behind him is now a crime scene - COPS everywhere taking pictures, bagging evidence. New tape all over. What was CAUTION is now POLICE LINE.
The Detective's lips peel back slightly, exposing his teeth, his muted revulsion. It's messy. Even for him.
He turns, his eyes sweeping the garage, unsatisfied.
TIME CUT: BLINDING LIGHT. From inside a tight crevice, we look up at the Detective poking a bent wire into our collective eye.
E.C.U. The wire hooks the open end of a bullet shell, extracting it from between two concrete slabs.
SERIES OF E.C.U.s: A piece of tape collects nylon fibers from the concrete pillar/A piece of tape collects a single strand of off-white hair from a crepe-soled footprint/Gloved hands box up the traffic cone/Empty the parking meter.
The Detective stands, inspects the shell, gently blows a little dust off, shines his light TO REVEAL:
E.C.U.: The trace of a finger-print ...
E.C.U.s: Tape pulls the print from the shell/A hot light scans it/Tape lifts prints from the traffic cone/A hot light scans it/Tape lifts a print from a quarter/A hot light scans it.
CLOSE ON: A computer screen scans fingerprints of various shapes and clarity, rapidly comparing them to a massive database. One after another the various prints match like tumblers in a lock, cherries in a slot machine, producing the same name over and over:
JAMES MllRK BARR
CLOSE ON: A MAILBOX bearing the name:
REVEAL: The Detective in an unmarked car watching through binoculars. The TV shuts off. The house goes dark. The Detective raises his radio ...
BA-BOOM - the front and back doors blow in simultaneously. SWAT GUYS rush in - weapon-lights flashing off walls, windows - hard to make anything out. A DOG emerges from the kitchen, barks once:
CRACK - a pistol-shot. A yelp O.S.
BOOM - the door blows in, SWAT guys rapidly fill the tiny space, lights finding the underwear-clad, pale- skinned frame of JAMES BARR - face down on the bed.
They mob him, pin him, zip his hands and feet together with flex cuffs. They stand back and:
Barr snores, out cold. The Detective pushes through a wall of SWAT guys. Beside an up-ended night stand he finds a wallet, a bottle of booze, a bottle of pills.
The Detective dumps the pills in his latex-gloved hand. The bottle is nearly full, the booze half-gone.
He checks Barr's wallet, holds up the driver's license to the SWAT Guy. The SWAT Guy leans over to look at Barr's face. He nods.
The Detective emerges from the bedroom to find COPS turning the place over. He trips over a dead dog.
Four SWAT Guys carry Barr out like a suckling pig - hog-tied, face-down, still snoring:
Total darkness shattered by a shaft of light. The Detective enters as a shadow. Fluorescent lights flicker on, illuminating a beige van - the one we saw in the parking garage. Its front bumper nuzzles:
A reloading bench - the same bench we saw earlier. We get a good look at it now. The red-handled shell press, the jars of black gun powder, unused slugs.
The Detective steps over a pair of crepe-soled shoes by the door, past a blue nylon windbreaker hanging on a hook, a stack of three orange cones in the corner.
He focuses on five spent shells tossed almost casually on the center of the bench, waiting to be reloaded. Re-used. Using a pencil, he picks up one of the shells, smells it. Then he checks his watch.
Four walls, a door with no knob, a table, two chairs. The Detective - HIS NAME IS EMERSON - lays evidence on a table like cards from a winning hand: Security camera stills of the van, fingerprints, the shoes, the jacket, dog hair, the rifle, the shells.
CLOSE ON: A pair of cuffed hands opposite Emerson picking absently at a blackened thumbnail.
Emerson smiles, throws a look over his shoulder to A MAN IN A SHARP SUIT (60s) standing by the door, arms folded, waiting. He is:
Emerson lays down a sheet of paper and a pen. After a long beat, the hands pick up the pen and start writing. Emerson looks at his watch, satisfied.
Mere seconds later, the hands offer the paper to Emerson. Emerson takes it, confused. Scrawled on the paper are just three big words:
The camera comes around to REVEAL: JAMES BARR, (29). His face is a little fleshy, almost boyish. His eyes are empty, but scared. Oh, and one more thing:
He's not the man we saw pull the trigger. Somehow, despite all the evidence, James Barr is innocent.
Emerson hands the "confession" to Rodin. He reads it:
You are lying in a bed, looking through your large, bare feet at a flat screen TV on mute. You have a beer in one hand, remote in the other. You flip through channels, uninterested in everything you see.
Your clothes - khaki pants, sand-colored t-shirt, light jacket - are draped on a nearby chair beside a red dress. Your boat-shoes are by the door next to a pair of red high heels. You sip your beer.
A WOMAN IN HER 40S so good-looking, so effortlessly sexual we can't begin to imagine her 20s, stands at the mirror in her underwear, running your razor under each arm, talking to you in the other room.
She puts the razor down next to a disposable tooth- brush. She considers her hair, looks for a brush, a comb. There's nothing.
You are still flipping channels - past football, past Girls Gone ,vild, past the attractive FEMALE REPORTER on CNN, past- You stop, go back to CNN.
The titles say her name is Anne Yanni. Police and ambulances fill the frame behind her. The scroll says something about a sniper, five dead.
Then there's a press conference, a podium, a cop named Emerson, a D.A. named Rodin. Back to Anne.
Your eyes focus on her - her lips moving silently, filled by the voice of the Woman in the bathroom:
Your hand drops the remote. Your big arm puts the beer down next to half a dozen tattered condom wrappers. Your eyes focus on the scroll .
... SUSPECT JAMES MARK BARR ...
The woman finishes tying her hair in a knot behind her head, decides it looks good. She's right.
She realizes you haven't said a word.
She walks out of the bathroom and into:
She finds the TV off, her dress laid neatly on the bed, all trash swept hastily in the bin.
What she doesn't find is you.
You are JACK REACHER.
There is something you have to do.
James Barr and FIVE OTHER PRISONERS ride in silence on opposite benches. They wear state-issue orange, hands chained. Barr chews his blackened thumbnail nervously. The other five prisoners size him up, sharing furtive glances. Barr happens to make eye contact with A TATTOOED PRISONER across from him. He nods, innocent, respectful. He looks away.
Beat. Barr realizes Tattoos is addressing him.
Tattoos' boot snaps up, catching Barr under the chin. Barr is in shock, his tongue half severed, hanging.
Barr holds up his hands, tries to speak. Can't. Tattoo cocks both his feet and stomps Barr's chest. Barr slumps on the FAT PRISONER next to him.
The Fat Prisoner elbows Barr. His head snaps back, flinging blood on the other prisoners. Now everyone is after him with boots, elbows, knees.
ANGLE ON: The vent window looking into the cab of the van. TWO CORRECTIONS OFFICERS glance back, ignore it.
Rodin and Emerson talk across the farmer's desk. Emerson sifts through an impressive heap of paper.
CLOSE ON Reacher's back - broad shoulders, close cropped hair - as he walks to America's superstore.
Reacher's large hands pull on a neutral-colored t- shirt, tan chinos, some work-boots, a belt as:
We glimpse the scars on his muscular frame as he pulls on new, cheap duds and collects the tags.
He hands cash to the PREGNANT, OVER-PIERCED GUM- CHEWING CASHIER (17). She gives him a wanton smile, stuffing his tags in a bag with his old clothes.
Reacher drops the bag in the trash, never looks back.
CLOSE ON Reacher's back again, walking through the worst part of town toward:
A CHAIN-SMOKING CASHIER IN HER 80s counts out two grand in hundreds as she gives him a wanton smile.
Reacher slaps down a dog-eared passport. We catch a glimpse of his shop-worn photo, his given name.
CLOSE ON his back as he walks down the aisle.
REACHER'S P.O.V. of a WOMAN (late 30s) looking out the window, hoping things will be better where she's headed. She used to look good. Now she's bitter. The seat beside her is empty.
She sees Reacher coming. She doesn't smile. She glances around the full bus, at the empty seat next to her. She grudgingly clears it of her things.
CLOSE ON Reacher's back, holding that same Bitter Woman in his arms, kissing her deeply. He walks away, leaving her on the bottom step of a Greyhound bus to somewhere else. She manages a smile. She looks good.
A knock at the door. A SECRETARY ENTERS.
Rodin and Emerson share a surprised glance. Rodin nods to the Secretary. As they stand, Jack Reacher enters, affording us our first real look at the man. Solid. Imposing. Intimidating. Handsome but not pretty. Wise but not old. He is a human wall of calm heralding an unearthly storm.
Reacher looks down at the unconscious, swollen, battered heap of bandages that is James Barr.
Icy pause.
RODIN REACHER
No way. Not until you answer- Nice meeting you.
Emerson and Rodin follow Reacher into the hallway. We notice TWO UNIFORM COPS guarding Barr's room.
RODIN? Why did he ask for you then?
Rodin grabs Reacher's arm. Reacher grabs Rodin's pinkie and bends it. Rodin gasps, stands on his toes. Emerson is trying not to laugh.
Reacher tweaks Rodin's pinkie a little harder.
Rodin shakes his head. Reacher lets go.
All turn to find HELEN RODIN, (30s) business suit, blackberry, three inch heels. Emerson smiles again.
HELEN REACHER
Jack Reacher? Helen Rodin?
EMERSON RODIN
It's not what it looks like. He came to us.
They shake hands before Emerson leads an angrily reluctant Rodin away.
Reacher starts walking. Helen follows.
Reacher stops, comes face-to-face with Helen.
CONCRETE. Tons and tons of liquid concrete pour from a crane-borne hose into a massive foundation. CONSTRUCTION WORKERS in hard hats manage the action.
Walking past them is LINSKY (40s). His brown suit and leather shoes stand out. He approaches a trailer at the edge of the job site, knocks on the door, enters.
A moment later Linksy walks out holding a briefcase.
Linsky drops the case on the seat and opens it TO REVEAL stacks of hundred dollar bills. He looks at the gusher of concrete, back at the money and smiles.
His cell phone rings. He answers.
Helen and Reacher sit in a booth - greasy menus, the grill just a few feet away. A single sheet of paper lies on the table between them in Barr's screed:
Helen puts a tape recorder on the table, starts it:
She stops herself. Reacher smiles.
He turns off the recorder, becoming deathly serious.
PUSH IN SLOWLY on a younger James Barr, fit, cut, high and tight, dressed in Army drabs. He sits on the floor, rapidly taking down a rifle.
QUICK CUTS of Barr honing his skills. E.C.U.s of trigger, reticle, round, target. A silhouette 300 yards away in front of a wall of earth.
CRACK/CRACK/CRACK - With each shot we move closer to the target, sinking deeper into Barr's P.o.v.
CRACK/CRACK/CRACK - Bullets hit the paper target, kicking up clouds of dust behind it, over and over.
CRACK/CRACK/CRACK - The silhouette turns for an instant into a MAN. A cloud of blood instead of dust.
PUSH IN SLOWLY on the same James Barr, but different, distant, cleaning his weapon slowly, assembling it with a mixture of love and longing. MOVE IN CLOSER, tighter, until we see Barr's pores, smell his sweat.
This one in Baghdad - cars caked with dust, tires flat from dry rot. Barr casts a long shadow with the sun behind him, his shirt soaked with sweat. He shoulders his weapon and we're in his P.O.V.
The reticle scans an empty Baghdad street, looking for targets of opportunity. A door opens, the reticle settles on it, waiting for a clear shot ...
FOUR AMERICANS, armed but wearing civvies, emerge from the doorway.
CRACK/CRACK/CRl\CK/CRACK
EXT, BUS DEPOT - NIGHT
Reacher and Helen sit on a bench, away from the other WOULD-BE PASSENGERS - a random mix of Americana. A PORTER loads luggage under a Greyhound bus.
The bus doors open. Passengers shuffle to get on. Reacher joins the queue and Helen follows.
Reacher stops, faces her.
We can tell she's right. Reacher finally nods.
Reacher in a seat by the window, knuckles to his lips, watching Helen walk away.
PUSH IN SLOWLY as the question nags him: "Why?"
He gets up. We stay on his empty seat.
Helen backs out of a spot, drops the car in drive and suddenly slams on the breaks, nearly running over:
Reacher, standing in front of her car. She rolls down the window as he approaches.
The scene of the crime. Reacher stands at the edge of the mall thumbing through a thick folder in his hand. Inside we see all of the evidence against Barr - the weapon, the shells, the quarter, the van, etc.
Reacher takes in the whole mall, more like a memorial now. A FEW PEOPLE walk around it, not across. The reflecting pool - drained dry - is surrounded by flowers, handwritten notes, stuffed animals.
P.O.V. of Reacher walking into the mall, looking up at the parking garage. He's being watched.
Linsky, parked across the street, watches Reacher. He has a file like the one we saw in Rodin's office. A file on Reacher.
Anxious, Linsky dials a cell phone, gets no answer, hangs up, frustrated. Meanwhile:
Reacher stands in the center of the nearly deserted mall under an eerie silence. He opens the folder again, surveys the aftermath of the crime. He turns his back to the garage, squinting at the morning sun. He looks at the empty pool, a photograph of a pristine bullet recovered there. He calculates. His eyes narrow. Something isn't right.
He looks at the garage again. He is still staring at it when a MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN passes behind lnm and her head explodes. Reacher turns casually as she falls, finding only the faded blood-stains on the concrete.
Behind him, the Businessman lies face down in a pool of his own blood. The reflecting pool is full now, the tributes gone. A bullet hits the water.
The event is happening all around Reacher - or rather behind him. In front of him are all that remains; blood-stains, concrete chipped by bullets. Finally, he walks to the garage leaving five bodies behind.
A gentle knocking takes us to:
A manicured two story in a nice neighborhood, Helen on the porch. The front door opens TO REVEAL one ROB FARRIOR (LATE 50s). He's been crying. For days.
Farrior pushes the door open and steps back. Helen enters, noticing immediately the drink in Farrior's hand. He walks slowly into the den. Helen follows.
She notes the family pictures along the wall - FARRIOR, A WIFE, a SINGLE DAUGHTER whom we recognize in later pictures as the pretty young woman from the mall. The one with the ice cream and the little girl.
She winces behind his back. He sits in an easy chair beside the morning paper and a bottle of scotch.
He takes a long sip from his drink.
In that moment we can see Helen has had a rough day.
He picks up the newspaper and offers it. She tenses, noticing the newspaper was covering a revolver.
She takes the paper, glancing again at the gun.
But as she moves to stand:
Helen freezes, glancing at the gun again.
Helen looks at the gun again.
But Helen stands, slowly, carefully. Farrior stands as she turns for the door. Out of the corner of her eye she sees him reaching - for his glass? The gun?
Helen walks faster. The front door seems very far way. The light outside is blinding white ...
Reacher squints, shades his eyes with his hand, looking down on the mall, five reddish brown stains. He looks down at the folder, a photo of the quarter, then at the parking meter. As he does so we:
Look out across the mall, past the office buildings beyond, to the freshly constructed highway bypass in the distance ... And a van parked on the shoulder.
PASSING CARS would merely see the van as just another disabled vehicle. But there are no passing cars. This new spur is deserted.
SNIPER'S P.O.V. out the passenger-side cargo door. A reticle settles on Reacher standing in the parking garage, brightly lit be the morning sun behind us.
E.C.U.s of the muzzle, a finger on the trigger.
CTI.ACK ... CRACK/CR4CK/CRACK/CR4CK/CRACK
PING/PING/PING/PING/PING - The shells eject one by one, landing inside the van.
CLOSE ON: The Shooter: JAMES BARR, face unblemished. He quickly shuts the van door, jumps in the driver's seat and takes off. The van peels away TO REVEAL:
Reacher, standing on the shoulder, folder in hand, looking at the mall from this new vantage point. He turns, squints into the sun. Something isn't right.
Driver's P.O.V. of Reacher on the shoulder. REVEAL:
Linsky at the wheel, passing Reacher, watching him in his rearview. He also knows something isn't right. He dials his phone again, getting no answer.
Helen slams the door, breath trembling. She glances at Farrier's house, sees him looming behind the screen door, glaring at her.
CLOSE ON her keys jingling as she struggles to steady one into the ignition. She can't do it.
The driver's door rips open. She gasps - too scared to scream - turning to find D.A. Rodin. She could use her father about now.
So much for that.
Her face goes from fearful to fierce. She pushes the door open and gets out.
Helen is having a "what have I done?" moment.
As she climbs in her car, he tries to take her arm.
He lets go as if shocked. Helen starts the car and speeds away, leaving Rodin in the street.
CLOSE ON: A long drawer containing the bagged and tagged rifle. Emerson slams it shut and turns to:
Beat. Something occurs to Reacher. He turns to leave:
Emerson blinks. He has no idea.
Chili's-level cholesterol dispensary.
Reacher on the pay phone, Helen's card in his hand. He shouts over loud music, louder CUSTOMERS. Thirty TVs show sports of all kinds.
He hangs up, surveys the restaurant. He hates it here. But he eyes the food going back and forth, not to mention the ATTRACTIVE WAITRESSES carrying it.
Reacher sits alone in a booth. A YOUNG, PRETTY WAITRESS puts a beer and burger in front of him. He smiles politely, gets no wanton look. Damn.
He sips his beer, chews his burger, thinks ...
FLASH - in his mind he sees the crime scene, the parking garage, the overpass, the morning sun.
FLASH - Reacher is pulled back to the sportsbar.
Reacher says nothing. She sits.
Sandy blinks as if surprised, recovers.
She slaps Reacher's face and stands, making a show.
She grabs his beer to pour it on him. He grabs her wrist and shakes the beer loose. Then a wall of muscle fills the frame behind her. Reacher is looking up at FIVE GUYS, ranging in size from big to massive.
The BIGGEST GUY is JEB (24).
Reacher stands calmly, measuring eye to eye with Jeb. Jeb is a little surprised, but committed.
2ND BIGGEST GUY That's our sister.
Off her stunned expression:
The door bursts open and the five guys march out, then Reacher. Sandy stands by the door.
Reacher's hands are at his side, calm, casual. He sports a knowing smile. Jeb's eyes narrow, wondering about Reacher now. He takes a step, stopping when:
Jeb charges, Reacher mixes boxing, Aikido and a school-yard kick to the nuts. Jeb drops, gasping:
Reacher turns, picking a tooth out of his knuckle as he faces the other four. Two step forward. Two step back - fear spreading quickly across their faces.
The two brave ones charge. Reacher looks directly at the two cowards, unblinking, as he savagely takes the brave ones out.
The last blow is the worst. This idiot throws a round- house kick circa 1989. Reacher catches the guy's ankle with his right hand, driving his heel into the guy's supporting knee, snapping it backward. The guy collapses, screaming like a gut-shot animal - a scream that blends with an approaching siren.
DRIVER'S P.O.V. racing into the parking lot, nearly hitting the two cowards as they run away. In the headlights we see Reacher standing over three mangled, writhing figures.
Reacher turns to confront Sandy, but she's running in the opposite direction. Before he can follow, TWO UNIFORM COPS leap from their cruiser, guns drawn.
1ST COP ON THE GROUND.
2ND COP DO IT NOW.
Reacher considers Sandy, then the guns aimed at him. He gets down on the ground with his would-be attackers - face-to-face with Jeb as they're cuffed.
Jeb's expression flashes: "How did you know?" But he says nothing.
In a dense forest far from the city, the beginning of some industrial structure occupies a clearing. A backhoe sits dormant by a deep, short trench. A pickup truck idles nearby. Linsky's Volvo wheels in and stops. He gets out with Reacher's file in one hand, the briefcase full of money in the other.
The pickup's lights come on, illuminating Linsky. He squints, glancing back at a pistol on the driver's seat, debating weather to reach for it as:
TWO MEN get out of the pickup. One approaches, revealing himself to be CHARLIE (28) a man we immediately recognize as the real mall shooter.
The other man lingers by the pickup, behind the headlights, A SHADOW.
He hands Charlie the file. As Charlie skims it, Linsky steals anxious glances at the Shadow.
Linsky's blood chills at the sound of The Shadow's voice, his strange accent.
Charlie shakes his head in disgust.
On cue, the Shadow approaches, we stay CLOSE ON Linsky. He shuts his eyes tight as:
As if resigned to his doom, Linsky slowly opens his eyes and takes in a man at once indescribably old and improbably virile. He is missing several fingers on both hands. One iris is milky white. He is THE ZEC.
Charlie has moved behind Linsky, pistol in hand.
Linsky glances at Charlie's pistol - then the backhoe and the hole. After a long, dark moment, he nods.
Linsky realizes with horror what the Zee wants. He contemplates his trembling left hand. He starts with the thumb, putting it in his mouth and then, against all human instinct, he bites down. We play the moment off the Zee and Charlie, listening as Linsky's agonized, slobbering O.S. slackens to a whimper.
ANGLE ON Linsky, his thumb bleeding, but intact - his shirt wet with drool.
The Zee nods casually. Linsky turns, walks dejectedly to the hole, letting his toes hang over the edge. Charlie taps Linsky's arm with the pistol's grip.
But Charlie shakes his head. Linsky takes the pistol and puts the barrel in his mouth as The Zee climbs onto the backhoe.
POP - a muffled gunshot o.s. The Zee sighs:
As he starts the backhoe's engine the sound of steel door slamming takes us to:
TWO FIGURES step into the foreground, looking at Reacher on a cot - sleeping, we guess. Until:
He sits up and smiles, seeing Helen is not alone.
Emerson scowls, slamming the door behind him.
Helen takes a long, shaky breath and we CUT TO:
Moving toward a city that could be anywhere. Populated by anybody. Even you. Motionless construction cranes dominate the skyline.
TILT DOWN SLOWLY: Moving over the highway, following traffic into the city.
Jessica straps the Girl into a car seat, kisses her forehead, shuts the door and they are on their way.
QUICK CUTS of Rita dropping Marcos off, over and over, day after day. He always kisses her goodbye, always waves back to her as he runs to school.
Rita walks to her minivan alone, in a hurry. She Jumps in and starts the stubborn engine.
The engine starts and she is on her way.
A perfect mother, NANCY HOLT (38) kisses her perfect HUSBAND and their TWO PERFECT CHILDREN as they eat breakfast. She grabs her purse and heads out.
Nancy leans over a glass cabinet filled with gorgeous men's watches, picking just the right one.
MOMENTS LATER the watch is being giftwrapped and she is shelling out cash from a thick wad in her purse.
She takes the bag and she is on her way.
Her husband hangs up the phone, puts a hand to his left arm, struggles to breathe. Oline rushes to him.
Oline at the same desk, broken. THREE LAWYERS sit across from her, handing her page after page to sign.
CLOSE ON: A legal document titled:
ARCHER PARTNERS v. M.4RGRAVE CONSTRUCTION
Oline shakes her head bitterly and signs.
Oline walks with purpose, a leather valise under her arm. She passes Rita, then a BUSINESSMAN (50s) on a bench, sipping a coffee. Meet:
Darren and his WIFE (late 40s) in the throes of an animated argument as he pulls on his suit jacket.
He slams the door behind him. She bursts into tears.
Darren looks up from his coffee and smiles at someone O.S. We notice an object on the bench beside him:
THUNK-CRACK - A bullet punches a perfect hole in Darren's forehead. REVEAL Nancy is walking toward Darren when it happens. She drops the bag in her hand, staring in horror. And in the next six seconds:
CLOSE ON: Oline, ignoring the loud report, keeps walking. A bullet hits her behind the ear - CRACK
Her valise spills and she dies in a pile of paperwork that seconds before meant everything.
CLOSE ON: Rita. We're running alongside her. She knows what's happening. But she's slow - CFIACK
CLOSE ON: Nancy, making the worst choice imaginable, turning to run - right toward the garage - CR4CK
CLOSE ON: Jessica, running with the little girl in her arms, her face stricken with terror.
wonder "who the hell stays there?" Reacher does.
Reacher washes blood from his shirt in the bathroom sink. Helen sits on the bed, drinking a beer, stealing awkward looks at his muscular frame.
She sips her beer, expressionless. A little cold.
He wrings out his shirt and hangs it on the heater before sitting on the dresser.
Reacher ponders those words, sipping a beer. Then:
ON DARREN seated on the bench next to those roses. COME AROUND TO REVEAL Nancy walking toward him.
CLOSE ON: The bag in Nancy's hand from the jeweler.
DARREN'S P.O.V. Nancy Holt, the perfect mother, walks toward him with a loving smile on her face. Through Reacher's eyes, we can see in an instant they know one another. Intimately.
CRACK - Darren dies right in front of Nancy. She drops her bag, stands frozen with terror.
Reacher shakes off whatever is nagging him:
Awkward beat. Helen stares at the shirtless Reacher.
He flicks something at her. She drops her beer to catch it. She looks in her palm and finds her keys.
A vast expanse of flat, exposed ground surrounds a mass of conveyer belts serving a central huddle of silos. The concrete factory is far from the main road, far from everything. The place is busy. Cement trucks come and go. The air and the ground both are choked with concrete dust. It looks like the moon.
Charlie drives up in a grey SUV, rapidly turning chalky white. He heads for an office trailer.
Charlie enters, stops short, surprised to find:
The Zee, his back to the door, looking at the concrete silo churning away outside. He is accompanied by FOUR BALTIC THUGS.
He turns, studying Charlie with his one good eye. He motions for Charlie to take off his sunglasses. When he does, the Zee studies his eyes.
The Zee considers. Charlie has a point, but:
Charlie stifles his frustration until:
And Charlie smiles.
Helen drives up, Reacher comes out, gets in her car.
As she drops the car in drive, she hands Reacher two folders full of photocopies. In the first one:
Reacher's P.O.V. The credit card statement shows two items over and over; MARSH SUPERMARKET and EXXON.
ANGLE ON: A back seat filled with legal file boxes. He turns and rummages through as:
CRACK. • • CR.4CK/CRACK/CRACK - Rifle shots split our ears and we are taken to:
Watching those crucial few seconds from multiple points of view:
A MARINE RECRUITER from inside a recruiting station.
A FEMALE CIVIL SERVANT from inside the DMV.
A BUSINESSWOMAN lying on the pavement behind a kiosk. For a beat we think she's bleeding out. Then we see she's laying in a pool of four spilled ventes.
Each witness tunes into the shooting at a slightly different moment, sees a different victim die. But they all hear the same thing:
CRACK ••• CRACK/CRACK/CR.4CK
Reacher closes a thick folder labeled:
Helen thinks and we CUT TO:
A building painted bright red, a massive American flag flowing in the breeze. Not an. The.
Reacher scans the nearly empty parking lot, noting a handful of cars parked close together, far from the front door. He opens the door and gets out.
He slams the door and walks away, seemingly oblivious to A SILVER AUDI just entering the lot, A HULKING SHADOW inside watching Reacher and Helen.
Capacious, brightly lit with long rows of every conceivable auto accessory known to man. And deserted. Reacher clearly hates places like this.
DING - The sound of the service bell hangs in the air for an eternity. Reacher rings again.
DING - Finally, A GUY (20s) appears. He's better than you, knows more, can't afford your car. You want to smash his fucking face in. His tag reads:
Gary reaches for the phone.
Reacher pushes the phone down.
Reacher steps around back of the counter.
Sandy sits behind a desk managing to make her dorky work shirt look hot, sifting through paperwork. She sees Reacher - followed by Gary - and goes white.
Gary reluctantly leaves. Reacher shuts the door, wedges a chair under the knob. Sandy is scared now.
Long silence. Then Sandy spills:
Beat. Sandy stands, trembling, undoes some buttons.
She sits like a little kid, all the woman gone.
Sandy grabs a pen and paper, scribbles fast.
Sandy stands, stretches for her purse showing maximum ass and flexibility. As she hands over the keys:
Sandy shrugs, her smile fading.
The roar of an angry VB takes us to:
Reacher behind the wheel of a tricked-out El Camino. Unaccustomed to driving, he drops the car in reverse, grinds the gear, overdoes the gas and break.
ANGLE ON: That Silver Audi parked across the lot.
Inside we find one of the Zec's thugs. We'll call him VLAD. We notice he's missing a thumb. He watches the El Camino lurch out of the lot. He follows.
The rural outskirts. The El Camino turns off the main road and down a bumpy gravel driveway. A moment later, the Silver Audi comes into view, hanging back.
Reacher takes in a two bedroom rental. AN OLD WOMAN sits in a rocker on the porch, staring into space.
Reacher opens the glove box, finding an envelope with registration, insurance, etc.
The Old Woman rocks gently, her only reaction. Reacher mounts the porch, flashing the car's registration with it's official-looking state seal.
She doesn't even look at Reacher. He notices the glass pipe and lighter in the folds of her blanket, her glassy eyes. She's cooked out of her mind.
Reacher walks in the house. The Old Woman pulls a cell phone out from under her blanket and dials ...
Reacher enters. The place is a shit-hole. Dishes piled high in the sink, flies buzzing. He heads down the front hall passing a small bathroom. Further on he finds an open door with a heavy hasp on the frame for a padlock. The gear-head booty-centric posters in the room beyond denote a young man's touch. The dresser drawers are all open and empty. The closet contains nothing but a few empty hangers.
Vlad has his car hunkered in a driveway down the road from Jeb's. His eyes narrow as a primer-coated Chevy drives past and turns down Jeb's driveway ...
Reacher pulls Helen's card out of his pocket and picks up the phone to dial. Then he stops, hangs up.
CLOSE ON: Reacher's hand, taking the end of his Jacket and wiping the phone of fingerprints. He turns, goes back to the bathroom and looks again.
He notes the shower curtain rod. Except for a few metal rings there's nothing else there ...
WHACK - Reacher is struck violently across the back of the head. He pitches forward into the shower, rolling half-dazed to defend himself, seeing:
Not one, but TWO attackers - we'll call them BIG and TALL - cut from the same cloth as Jeb. Big is swinging a pipe with Reacher's blood on it. Tall has a chopped-down baseball bat.
Reacher is fucked - on his back in a tight space, fetal, curled up to protect his head and body, taking brutal hits to his shins, knees and forearms. Then:
Reacher kicks with both feet, hitting Big in the pelvis, sending him into the hallway. He grabs Tall's face, his right thumb squishing into Tall's eye socket. Tall screams and scrambles back like a crab, but Reacher holds on, letting Tall's adrenalized power haul them both to their feet.
Tall hits Reacher with the bat-handle, but the strikes are involuntary, comical, girlie. Reacher pushes Tall backward into the hall as:
Big gets on his feet and swings his pipe. Reacher turns Tall like a shield, the full force of the pipe landing on Tall's shoulder with a sickening crunch.
Reacher pushes Tall into Big, driving hard down the narrow corridor. Big trips and falls. Reacher and Tall land on top of him. Reacher and Big grapple savagely, Tall sandwiched between them, screaming.
Reacher lets go of Big, grabs Tall's head in both hands and drives it like a rock into Big's face over and over until both men are still. He stands, winded, dazed, bleeding from the back of his head. Then:
VOICE (O.S.) I GOTCHOO FUCKER.
Reacher turns to find A THICK PUNK just a few feet away, aiming a pistol. He is one of Jeb's wingmen from the bar, the one without the shattered leg.
Before the last word is out of his mouth, Reacher lashes out with his right hand, grabbing the gun firmly, pushing it left as he leans right.
CRACK - the gun goes off into the wall behind Reacher. He spins the gun around, snagging the Punk's finger in the trigger guard. Reacher yanks the gun back with both hands, stripping that trigger finger to the bone. The Punk's scream is cut short when Reacher snatches him by the throat, drives him into the wall and shoves the gun in the Punk's mouth.
Reacher pulls the gun out of his mouth.
Reacher thinks on it, then:
He digs 1n the Punk's pocket, comes out with keys.
The Punk looks at the pulpy heap of Big and Tall.
Vlad is slightly confused when Reacher emerges driving the Chevy back toward town. Vlad follows.
The rest of the firm has gone home. Helen sits at her desk covered with photographs from the crime scene - Darren's flowers, Nancy's bag, Oline's valise - all seemingly innocuous, if not for the motionless hand in this corner, the spatter of blood in that one.
He moves to look out the window. She sees the clotted wound on the back of his head, blood on his collar.
She rubs her eyes, shakes her head.
Shooter's P.O.V. through the scope, choosing targets:
Barr walking to the ledge, shouldering his rifle:
BARR'S P.O.V. through the scope as those four doomed Americans walks into the line of fire:
The same place Reacher stood, taking in the mall. Barr shoots from inside his minivan:
CRACK/CR4CK/CRACK - the shells landing in back.
A beat later, the van is speeding away.
E.C.U.s: Tape pulls the print from the shell/A hot light scans it/Tape lifts prints from the traffic cone/A hot light scans it/Tape lifts a print from a quarter/A hot light scans it as:
A bullet slicing the water, settling to the bottom.
E.C.U.s: A bottle of booze, a bottle of pills, Barr passed out cold - just the way the police found him.
A PAIR OF GLOVED HANDS presses a quarter to Barr's thumb/A bullet to his finger/A pair of feet squeeze into his crepe soled shoes/Those gloved hands pull on Barr's windbreaker, grab Barr's car keys/Open the door to his minivan.
That takes a moment to sink in, then:
But just as we think he's won her over:
When she doesn't, Reacher turns it off himself.
Helen sighs, turns, looks down at the traffic.
She stares at the chain stores, the banks, the urban blandness of it all. It's purgatory.
Helen blinks, refocuses, sees the car in question.
Reacher produces Helen's card with a license plate number scrawled on it,
Helen studies the card, shakes her head with a sigh.
A familiar cellphone answered by claw-like hands.
The Zee listens, scowls.
He hangs up, looks across the room at:
Charlie. He reads the Zec's face, pulls on his jacket, grabs his keys as the Zee dials the phone.
Vlad, a cell-phone on the dash on speaker, looks at his remaining thumb and sneers bitterly.
CLOSE ON: the photos on Helen's desk. We look at them a little differently now.
His face doesn't change, but the remark stings.
Reacher takes a post-it and a pen from her desk and writes something. He folds it and hands it to Helen.
Then the phone rings. Reacher waits. Helen answers.
She grabs a pen, writes. Her face slackens.
She hangs up, staring at what she's written. She turns, looks out the window, noting the Audi is gone.
She rummages through the photographs on the table, finding one in particular and freezing.
She hands Reacher the photograph she is holding. Oline Archer lays face down in a pile of blood- stained legal papers, one of which clearly reads:
ARCHER PARTNERS v. fall\RGRl\VE CONSTRUCTION
Reacher says nothing. She unfolds the note. It reads:
They both look at the photograph of Oline in her pile of papers. Reacher says nothing.
Helen thinks about this for a beat, then she writes an address on her pad, tears it off, hands it over.
Her hand lingers in his. A pleasantly awkward moment.
A pare of succulent, slightly parted lips take the finishing touches of bright red lipstick.
PULL BACK TO REVEAL: Sandy looking like a million air-brushed bucks. She gives her hair a tease, adjusts her breasts and blows a kiss to the mirror.
Follow Sandy's killer heels down the dimly lit walkway. She sees A MAN coming up the sidewalk, thinks nothing of it. He passes her, then:
She stops, turns and we see it's:
Long, awkward pause.
She thinks about it ... We tense. Don't go. Then:
A hand grabs her shoulder and spins her around. Sandy comes face-to-chest with Vlad. His massive fist slams her temple, snapping her head sideways-
CRllCK
CLOSE ON: Sandy, her neck bent at an impossible angle, her eyes blank at odd angles, a deep blue bruise on the side of her face. PULL BACK TO REVEAL:
Detective Emerson - meticulous collector of evidence that he is - kneeling by a dumpster with that slightly sickened look on his face. We are:
Sandy's body has been tossed away like trash, position undignified.
PULL BACK TO REVEAL: A crime scene - the yellow tape, the idle cop cars, idle COPS. We're behind a motel - one of those low-lying places you pass and wonder "who the hell stays there?" But now you know.
Reacher behind the wheel on a sleepy, over-lit city street. His eyes narrow, spying something ahead.
REACHER'S P.O.V. A silver Audi, that Audi, parked in an otherwise empty lot on the other side of the concrete divider. No fast way to get there. Reacher slows down, tries to see inside the car.
The Audi's headlights come on and the car suddenly drives away. As Reacher ponders this we go to-
-Emerson, leafing through the registry with the NIGHT MANAGER anxiously looking on.
Reacher sees the flashing red and blue police lights before he sees the motel. He wheels into the parking lot and brings the Chevy to a stop, noting the van marked CORONER, the red hair peeking out from under the sheet in back.
He glances in his rearv1ew and sees that Audi again, creeping past the motel.
Charlie and Vlad slow down to rubberneck. They see Reacher's car in the lot, Emerson emerging from the lobby. Everything is in its proper place.
Emerson stops, sees the Chevy. Reacher inside. Reacher and Emerson make eye contact. Time stops. Recognition. Assumption. Conclusion. Action.
Emerson's hand goes for his gun. Reacher drops the car in reverse.
Screaming tires. Reacher over-guns the Chevy back into the street as COPS realize a chase is on and run for their cars. Emerson is ahead of them by several seconds - in his car and after Reacher like a shot.
The car lurches, gears grind. The road in Reacher's rearview gradually fills with red and blue lights. He sees tail lights up ahead and guns it.
(You are reminded; Reacher is not much of a driver.)
Charlie glances in the rearview. Vlad looks back. The Chevy is coming up fast, chased by police. Vlad looks to Charlie. "What do we do?" Charlie guns it.
Reacher ignores the cops cars on his ass, focusing on the Audi in front. The overpowered Chevy gains until:
Reacher pulls up along side the Audi and looks over. He can just make out two faces looking back at him.
Reacher drops back, cranks the wheel, clipping the Audi 1 s ass as:
Charlie struggles to the keep the car on the road.
Reacher rams the stubborn Audi once, twice, about to ram it a third time when he sees:
Three more squad cars in front of him, closing, covering both lanes. Reacher slams the breaks hard.
But the Audi keeps going, swerving to the shoulder, slamming into the guard-rail, clipping an oncoming cop car and, miraculously, making it through.
The cop car spins out, blocking Reacher's chance of following. He has only a split second to watch the Audi escape. But he has bigger problems. He drops his still-skidding Chevy in reverse and punches the gas.
The Chevy shudders, engulfed in a cloud of rubber smoke, and finally gaining speed going backward as:
Emerson and the three squad cars swerve to avoid slamming into Reacher's Chevy, passing him as:
Seven police cars are suddenly in a tangle - three corning, four going - all trying to follow Reacher.
Meanwhile, Reacher takes the opportunity to make a jerky three point turn, grinding gears, about to start speeding the wrong way up the divided road.
Then he gets an idea.
Reacher gets out of the car and simply walks away. The stunned cops watch from their cars as Reacher jumps over the divider and across the road.
The police cars are suddenly useless. Emerson and A DOZEN COPS bail out and chase after Reacher on foot. Two of them have K-9. But Reacher has a good lead, he has no gun-belt, no body armor. And he's Reacher.
Low-income suburbs. Boots on pavement, winded men breathing, dogs panting, radios squawking - flashlight beams swinging left and right.
For Reacher its the sort of course a military lifer is made for - dodging obstacles, vaulting fences.
For Emerson and his men it is the weight of the gear on their belts, the coffee in their bellies.
Emerson and the cops fan out as TWO K-9 COPS drop to their knees and snap their leads. Two fine looking GERMAN SHEPHERDS speed ahead of the police.
Reacher hears them coming, the almost playful breathing. Other men would run faster. Reacher stops.
FIRST DOG'S P.O.V. Low and fast, loping across the grass, savage as it rounds a corner to find:
Reacher in a low crouch, hands outstretched. He catches the dog's front legs and spreads them like a wishbone. The dog is instantly helpless, front legs spread, chin on the ground. Reacher pins the dog, pulls its choke collar taught, steps on it. The animal flails, helpless as:
SECOND DOG'S P.O.V. Again, low and fast, rounding the corner to find Reacher throwing a punch. He jams his right fist directly into the dog's mouth, grabbing it by the scruff with the other. The dog can't bite down. And it can't breathe. The animal chokes, flails, and finally makes sounds of surrender.
Emerson and the TWO K-9 cops vault a fence into the yard and find the two dogs, wheezing and cowering. Their master's snap the leads on and try to continue the chase, but their dogs refuse to follow.
Emerson doesn't stop to answer. He runs around the corner, gun drawn, but there is no sign of Reacher.
Silence. Emerson and NUMEROUS COPS emerge from behind several houses - converging in a wide circle. All exits were covered. Where the hell did he go?
Emerson looks around the dimly lit neighborhood as a low rumbling grows into a roar and the eye of God seems to illuminate the neighborhood. A police helicopter roars overhead, its blinding spotlight searching relentlessly. But Reacher is gone.
ANGLE ON: the ground at Emerson's feet. He doesn't notice a ragged hole in the grass as he walks away.
CLOSE ON the back door - the frame split where the knob meets the jamb. COME AROUND to reveal the place is deserted. Not a stick of furniture.
A FOR SALE sign leans against one wall, freshly ripped from the ground outside.
Reacher peers through curtains left behind. He watches the cops beat the bushes, look under cars. He dabs his bloody knuckles on the curtains and waits.
Charlie and Vlad watch from a distance as the police gather at their cars to give up.
The Zee with a cell phone in his claws.
The Zee thinks, angry. Frustrated. Finally:
Charlie looks at Vlad's missing thumb, considers his own ten healthy fingers. Finally:
Helen in her kitchen, dressed in a robe, tired after a long day. As she turns out the lights she hears a noise o.s. She pauses, follows it to the door.
E.C.U: The door knob moves ever so slightly. But the door is locked. Helen backs away, scared now. She turns for the phone just as it rings. A bright light blinds her through the sliding glass door in the kitchen. She lunges for a drawer, grabbing a kitchen knife. The bright light turns, illuminating:
Emerson with TWO UNIFORM COPS. He has a cell phone to his ear, shouting through the glass:
She sits on the couch, stunned. Emerson and Rodin stand over her.
All of this hits Helen like a truck.
Emerson and Rodin study her. Finally.
The phone rings, but Helen ignores it, standing. Emerson has to get between her and Rodin.
The room erupts in cross talk, the ringing phone. Emerson's voice finally cuts above it.
She walks into the kitchen, picking up the phone.
As Emerson and Rodin argue in the other room:
Helen blanches, recovers, considers her actions very carefully, stealing a glance at Rodin and Emerson.
Reacher on a pay phone.
REVEAL he is standing next to Helen's Lexus. We notice the back passenger window is gone.
She shakes her head. "Typical Reacher."
Helen thinks about this, turning slowly, looking at Emerson and Rodin, still talking in the other room.
Helen turns slowly, focusing on her father just as her father and Emerson finish their dialogue. They focus on Helen now. Still she says nothing.
Tense pause. Helen suddenly she hangs up the phone.
Emerson nods and heads for the door. Rodin lingers for a moment, but Helen folds her arms. She's done.
Rodin leaves, shutting the door behind him. Helen lets out a long, trembling breath and sits down.
Reacher's P.O.V. of a sign over the highway:
WELCOME TO KENTUCKY - Unbridled Spirit
HARD CUT to another sign coming up slowly on the side of a rural roud:
HINGE CREEK GUN RANGE - Member's Only
Reacher parks between a Hummer and a Ford F-150. Bumper stickers express the single-issue leanings of die-hard 2nd Amendmenteers. MEN WHO COULD VERY WELL BE MILITIA linger in the parking lot, giving Reacher the once over when he emerges from a citified Lexus.
Wood paneled walls, spongy plywood floor, guns and ammo for sale. A big window behind the counter overlooks a long rifle range - the land dipping for three hundred yards before gradually sloping upwards to a forest half a mile beyond. A big flag reads:
Reacher turns to a wall lined with simple 10 x 10 paper targets - concentric circles around a black bull's-eye. All of the targets are used, bearing tight groups of bullet holes in the center. Each target is marked with the range fired - none less than five hundred yards - and all bear the name of the marksman in small, meticulous handwriting.
We notice a few suspicious blank-spots on this otherwise orderly wall of fame.
Reacher likes this guy. As they shake hands:
Cash's face falls. As he reassembles the rifle:
CLACK - Cash slaps the last piece of the rifle in place and racks the bolt. Reacher doesn't flinch.
Cash thinks for a beat, pulls out a target, writes:
AARON WARD - 700 yds.
He lays three bullets down next to his rifle.
A chilly wind blows across the desolate landscape. Reacher hangs the target on a wooden backstop. He turns to trek back the seven-hundred yards to the shooter's bench, pausing briefly to consider:
Cash, his rifle resting on a simple plywood table. He glances at the gun, then Reacher, alone out there.
CLOSE ON: A pair of hands pick up of the rifle and rack the action. REVEAL:
It's Reacher, back at the bench now - foam plugs in his ears. Cash screws two .45 caliber casings in his. Reacher goes prone, shoulders the rifle.
A RIFLE SCOPE invades our P.O.V. and we are transported to the target. The reticle is a bit shakier than the one at the mall. Reacher breathes in and out, in and out. The reticle slowly settles and:
CRl\CK. • • CRACK. • • CRl\CK - Reacher stands as Cash raises a pair of binoculars to his eyes.
CASH'S P.O.V. Three shots in the black - one just touching the edge, but still good. Cash lowers his binoculars and studies Reacher with new eyes.
INT, FRONT OFFICE - DAY
Cash lays down a dozen targets, each featuring a tight group in the center - so close as to make a single ragged hole.
Each target bears a name in the corner:
JllMES BllRR
ANGLE ON: A jury-rigged piece of one-way glass over a ragged hole cut in the wall for a security camera.
ANGLE ON: cash's desk: a rat's nest of receipts, an old adding machine and a crappy twenty-year old PC covered in grime plays back images captured by a the camera; The faces of Cash's many customers.
ON THE SCREEN, Barr enters, followed by a MAN IN A BASEBALL CAP, face hard to make out. Until:
Cash pauses the playback - blurry, grainy, but enough to identify:
Charlie.
Helen answers her ringing cell phone.
Reacher uses a binder clip like forceps to lift Barr's targets into a trash bag.
She hangs up.
COME AROUND SLOWLY as she address someone O.S. REVEAL a large heap of legal files on a desk in front of her. Several of the documents feature the words:
REVEAL: She is sitting in District Attorney Rodin's office, addressing her father.
She stands and heads for the door.
Helen emerges from Rodin's office, ignoring THE MAN seated on one of several leather chairs - his face hidden by a newspaper.
The doors slide open and Helen gets on. The doors are just about closed when a hand catches them. As the doors slide open again.
VOICE (O.S.) Oh, Hey.
The Man enters, steps into the frame TO REVEAL:
Emerson.
The doors close. The elevator descends. After a few beats Helen has a realization. She does her best to hide that she is suddenly nervous.
Beat. Helen, thinks fast, pulling the stop button. The elevator lurches to a halt and the alarm sounds. Emerson grabs her, reaches under his jacket.
She screams, kicks, punches. He gets a hand on her throat and:
ZZZZZACK - nails her with the stun-gun he holds in the other. His lips are curled in that slightly sickened sneer. There is no joy in this.
Winded, bleeding from a scratch on his cheek, Emerson pushes the stop button back in. The alarm stops. He quickly pulls keys from his belt and inserts a particularly long one in the hole marked:
FIRE ONLY
The elevator opens. Emerson steps out with Helen's limp body over his shoulder. Here he meets:
Vlad and Charlie.
103,
Reacher on a pay phone, Helen's card in his hand, keeping a wary eye as he dials.
Confused, Reacher looks at Helen's card again,
INT, DARK ROOM - NIGHT
Charlie has Helen's cell phone,
Charlie holds the phone to Helen, seated in a chair with Vlad behind her, hands resting on her shoulders. She's scared but otherwise okay.
Reacher shakes his head, pissed.
But she's gone.
He hangs up the phone.
Charlie is stunned. He looks at Helen, Vlad:
Vlad leaves the room as the phone rings again. Charlie answers, this time on speaker:
Reacher hangs up.
Long pause. The phone rings again. He answers.
Helen is stunned - not sure if he means it.
Charlie looks to the doorway where the Zee is now lingering. Helen notices him for the first time and gasps audibly. Charlie covers the phone as:
Reacher hangs on tenterhooks, listening to a muffled conversation, praying with his eyes closed. Finally:
The trucks are gone, the dust has settled. Bright lights covering the rig make this place look even more like an alien outpost. Vlad and the other three Thugs patrol the premises, calm but alert.
Charlie occupies the highest point of the compound atop the silos. He uses a sniper rifle with a night vision scope to scans the horizon in all directions.
The Zee sits in a chair smoking a cigarette. Helen studies this creature with fascination. Emerson lingers by the door, waiting for the fight.
The Zee does not even react. She turns to Emerson.
He turns to face her now and her blood runs cold.
She looks to Emerson. That slightly sickened sneer on his face makes her believe him.
107,
But the Zee appears genuinely confused.
Helen's cell phone rings, startling her. Emerson answers, hands it to Helen.
A wall of earth five feet high on either side. Reacher leans against Helen's car in the dark.
He hangs up as headlights approach. He tenses as a pick up truck comes to a stop. THE DRIVER gets out, walks toward him, holding a rifle, emerging from behind the headlights TO REVEAL:
Cash pulls a knife from his jacket and hands it over.
CRANE UP as Reacher leads Cash to the wall of Earth on one side of the sunken road TO REVEAL:
The Concrete factory a good half mile away, lit up like Christmas. Reacher and Cash peer from a place of perfect cover. Cash pops the scope off his rifle, brings it to his eye like a telescope.
CASH'S P.O.V. He spies two of The Zec's Baltic Thugs but nothing else. His scope settles on the shadow at the tops of the central silos.
EXT, CONCRETE FACTORY - CROWS NEST - NIGHT
Charlie snaps alert as a car emerges from the sunken road half a mile away and makes an erratic turn. We think the car is driving away from the factory until the back-up lights come on. Charlie can hear the engine whining from here, gunning in reverse.
Charlie aims and CRACK
The Zee, Helen and Emerson all prick up at the sound of the shot. The Zee checks his watch and smiles.
The Baltic Thugs take cover and get ready, watching the car come.
Reacher lays on the floor, left elbow on the gas, right hand steering. A bullet blows out the back window. Another blasts through the headrest.
The back seat is filled with evidence boxes - the dense reams of paper as good as armor.
Charlie fires again and again, punching holes in the Lexus as it bounces across open ground, ever closer.
llO.
The Lexus hits a dip, catches air, lands hard - a mass of torn metal and shattered glass. It skids into a ditch, stuck.
Reacher drops the car in drive, reverse, drive again, slamming the gas with his elbow, trying to rock the car free. Bullets pepper the roof.
Cash sights in on the dark recess of the crows nest, drawing a bead on the muzzle flashes and:
PING - A bullet hits the trim just inches from Charlie's face. He recoils as the sound of the shot catches up with the bullet. He brings the gun around and scans for the source.
Reacher realizes there's a break in the shooting. He bails out of the car and runs across open ground as:
Charlie sees Reacher, draws a bead on him as:
Cash draws a bead on the darkness where Charlie is hiding:
PING-CRACK. Charlie's shot is thrown off by Cash's incoming. He swings his rifle around again to search the darkness for Cash. No luck. He goes back to Reacher, painting his chest with the crosshairs.
PING. Another bullet just misses Charlie. He flinches, tries to ignore it, aiming at Reacher and:
CRACK
A bullet hits the ground at Reacher's feet. He runs full speed in a straight line, the sound of snipers duking it out in front and behind.
Vlad emerges from the shadows and squints, seeing Reacher closing fast across the last hundred yards of open ground. He aims.
KAKAKAKAKAKAKA - Machine-gun fire. Reacher switches from a dead run to a serpentine.
Cash's scope deviates from the crows nest to the two flashing machine-guns lower down. He aims.
CRACK
A flood light above Vlad explodes, showering him with powdered glass.
Vlad ducks, motions for his Three Thugs to spread out and rush to meet Reacher at the edge of the compound.
Meanwhile, Charlie sees Cash's muzzle flash and draws a bead on his position.
Cash aims at another light by Vlad as:
ZZZZZZZMACK - A bullet strikes the ground just inches from his face - throws dirt and gravel in his eyes. Cash drops, blinded.
Charlie turns his sights back to the field but Reacher is gone.
Meanwhile two Thugs round a long row of shipping containers at the edge of the compound, expecting to find Reacher but finding only darkness.
ANGLE ON: A Third Thug lingers on the other side of the shipping container, watching the back door, so to speak. Reacher emerges from the darkness behind him, knife in hand. The Thug turns at the last second and fires as Reacher grabs the muzzle.
The other Two thugs hear this and run toward it.
The rapidly firing gun's muzzle sears Reacher's palm but he holds tight. With his other hand he drives the knife into the Thug's chest, shoving him back into the shipping container. The machine gun continues to fire. Reacher takes the pain, pounding the knife with his elbow until the Thug drops.
His left palm blistering, Reacher grabs the Thug's gun but it is slung to the dead weight of his body. Reacher tries to pull out the knife, but the blade is stuck fast. He brings the sling to the blade instead, slicing it clean through. He has a gun but it's empty. He searches the thug for magazines.
ANGLE ON: The two Thugs rounding the shipping container as:
Reacher finds a magazine, quickly jams it home, charges the weapon as:
The two Thugs appear in time to see Reacher standing and opening fire:
KAKAKAKAKAKAKA - Reacher cuts down the two Thugs before they know what hit them. But:
KAKAKAKAKA - Bullets pepper the shipping container. Reacher hits the ground and returns fire, seeing:
Vlad, ducking for cover. Reacher gets up and presses the attack, firing in short controlled bursts, moving from one position of cover to the next. Vlad is doing the same until finally.
Reacher's gun is empty. Vlad emerges from cover, steps out to get a clear shot and pulls the trigger.
CLICK - Vlad is out, too. He goes for a spare magazine. Reacher doesn't have one. He drops the machine gun and rushes Vlad as the Russian quickly reloads, driving the magazine home, jerking the bolt-
WHAM - Reacher hits him like a train. The two men go down hard, grappling close-in with a loaded machine- gun between their bodies. Vlad has control of the trigger, Reacher the muzzle. Stalemate then:
WHAM - Reacher head-butts Vlad in the nose, buying a few seconds of control. He wrenches the gun clockwise, turning the sling into a tourniquet around Vlad's neck and chest. Vlad punches Reacher, trying to break free. It becomes a fight to see who can stay conscious longer. Vlad loses. He collapses, dead.
Winded, bleeding, Reacher stands, looks toward the silo at the center of the compound. He grabs Vlad's gun and heads toward it.
Reacher creeps up the metal stairs on the outside of the solo, totally exposed. He reaches the top and finds a steel door. He kicks it open and enters:
Reacher dives to one side, expecting to be fired upon. Instead he lands on the floor opposite:
Charlie, bleeding through a hole between his neck and shoulder, gasping for breath.
Reacher stands, picks up Charlie's sniper rifle, steps in his wounded shoulder. Charlie sucks wind.
Charlie almost cries from the pain. He is pathetic now. Crippled.
CLOSE ON Reacher - rage in his eyes, a lust for blood. But then he pushes it away, backs off.
Reacher nods checks the rifle. Charlie tips his head back, waits for the shot.
CRJJCK - Charlie screams. A bullet in his foot.
CRACK - His screams shatter into sobs - a bullet in his other foot.
Emerson, Helen and the Zee hear three more shots, mingling with Charlie's howls of agony. Five shots in all. Emerson is scared, close to snapping. The Zee is amazingly calm, smoking a cigarette.
Charlie weeps, bleeding from his knees, elbows, feet.
He places the muzzled over Charlie's heart.
CRACK
REACHER'S P.O.V. The door creaks open TO REVEAL:
Emerson behind Helen, a gun to her head. A shadow in the corner casually sucks on a glowing cigarette.
EMERSON'S P.O.V. Reacher just outside, Charlie's rifle in his hand.
Long pause. Emerson considers his options and makes his move, aiming like lighting at Reacher as:
Reacher shoulders the rifle just as fast and:
HELEN'S P.O.V. Reacher aiming the smoking rifle.
Emerson's pistol falls in her lap. He collapses behind her - dead.
Reacher enters, aiming the rifle at the shadow in the corner. Helen stands, trembling, holding Emerson's pistol by the barrel. Reacher puts down the rifle, takes the pistol, puts an arm around her.
Then he flicks on the light. The Zee flinches slightly, almost like a roach ready to run under the fridge. But he stays calm. Smokes.
The Zee raises an eyebrow, nods, mildly impressed.
The Zee says nothing. Reacher puts Emerson's pistol to his forehead.
Reacher studies this pathetic old man and realizes he's telling the truth.
As Helen picks up the phone and dials.
She looks at Reacher: "can you believe this?"
Reacher thinks about this for a second.
CRllCK - He shoots the Zee through his milky eye.
Helen drops the phone, too stunned to scream.
He wipes his prints off the weapon and places it in the Zec's dead hand.
REACHER
And he walks out.
Reacher and Helen walk toward a car covered in gray dust and riddled with bullet holes.
He reaches into the blown-open trunk of the car and pulls out a plastic bag containing targets and a picture of Charlie. He hands it to Helen.
Helen looks at the bag for a moment, then realizes:
VOICE (0. S.) Is this the lady?
Cash emerges from the darkness, still trying to get the grit out of his eyes.
The faint sound of sirens O.S. They notice the first flashing lights from a line of police cars approaching in the distance.
As Reacher and Cash turn to leave:
Suddenly Helen looks very small in the midst of this moonscape. Reacher puts his hands on her shoulders.
He kisses her gently on the cheek. Helen grabs him and kisses him on the lips. They linger too long for Cash's liking. He clears his throat.
Finally, Helen lets go.
Cash and Reacher walk back toward the sunken road, dissolving into the shadows.
We stay with Helen, in the middle of a wide open, bone grey wasteland, sirens getting closer. She takes a deep breath and waits, fearless, as we FADE TO:
P.O.V. looking up at the ceiling from a hospital bed.
James Barr - face still slightly swollen, hair matted from recently removed bandages - awaits judgement.
Helen enters, pulls up a chair and sits. She has a note-pad and pen on her lap.
Barr's nods. Then his eyes well up with tears of guilt and shame.
He shakes his head.
She reaches into her valise, pulls out photos of the mall. Generic. All taken before the crime.
Barr takes the pictures, thumbs through them, shrugs.
Helen nods, quietly amazed.
Barr starts to cry.
Helen tries her best not to smile at the irony.
PULL BACK SLOWLY from A YOUNG COUPLE arguing in harsh whispers in the back of the bus. THE GIRL is near tears. The GUY is on the verge of getting physical.
We can't hear what he is saying, but none of it is nice.
As we move backward down the aisle we take in the faces of the OTHER PASSENGERS - a gallery of faces, human faces from all points, brought together by fate to share this uncomfortable experience. They all want the fight to stop. No one wants to get involved.
And this is where we find Reacher - freshly turned out in the latest Target fashion, headed to God knows where. He looks out the window, knuckle to his lips.
PUSH IN SLOWLY as the question nags him: "Why?"
The sound of a slap, a young woman crying out.
He gets up and walks to the back of the bus. We stay on his empty seat.
BLACK *