THE RUNNER SCREENPLAY - BRIAN R. LUNDIN (booksvooks .txt) 📗
- Author: BRIAN R. LUNDIN
Book online «THE RUNNER SCREENPLAY - BRIAN R. LUNDIN (booksvooks .txt) 📗». Author BRIAN R. LUNDIN
continued stirring the red sauce boiling over a low flame.
This has got to be done quickly and quietly and under no circumstances can it come back on the family, understood?
Anthony and Michael nodded.
Understood!
EXT. VITO’S HOME-EVENING
For the next two weeks in June, Michael and Anthony stalked Vito and monitored his movements. They noted when he arrived and left his office, where he had dinner and when he went home. Vito usually left his office around 6:00 in the evening. He drove home, fed and played with his dog and around 6:30 he walked to the Restaurante Italian, a family owned restaurant in Oak Lawn, a block from his home. After dinner, he played a round or two of bocce ball with the old timers, left the restaurant around 8:00 PM and casually walked home. The two men watched as Vito entered the rear fenced in yard and stop to play with his dog. Vito surprisingly lived in an elegant two-story bungalow that sat far back on the grounds of a well–kept lawn. A short driveway led to brown oak double front doors, illuminated by antique gaslight lamps. A forested area with tall evergreen trees was a few feet from the back yard. It was 7:30 pm, the long fingers of a bolt of lightning flashed across a darkening sky and seemed to linger. A brisk wind blew across the cold silent lake, ruffling the trees and shrubbery. A loud clap of thunder followed another bright flash of lightening as another distant thunder rumbled. The air was moist and forecasted rain was on the way. Droplets of rain turned into sheets as the two men parked their car two blocks from Vito’s home. The men carefully surveyed the street and watched as the few people on the street hurried to get out of the cool night air, rain and retreat to their comfortable houses. Michael and Anthony waited. Anthony kept a clean, well oiled, Mossberg 500, 10 shot sniper rifle, outfitted with an ambient sniper scope in the trunk of his car. At 7:45, Michael popped the trunk, took out the weapon and loaded it with 10 heavy grain bullets. Michael’s long thin face was buried in the oily collar of a khaki Army raincoat replete with fading corporal stripes and his long black hair blew behind him like bike streamers. He put on a green camouflaged hunting vest over a green camouflaged army uniform and put ten more shells in the pocket and looped the leather sling over his shoulder. Michael had trained as a sniper at Fort Bragg during the Korean War and had ten confirmed kills to his credit before he was dishonorable discharge for fragging, or throwing a hand grenade at a sergeant. Anthony armed with an automatic shotgun loaded with ten rounds of double buckshot’s was ready and eager as they silently darted to the forested area. The two men patiently waited in the rear of Vito’s house. Anthony hid between two tall, fluffy evergreens; his weapon lay across the crook of his left arm. Periodically he closed his eyes, which were tearing badly in the wind and rain. Michael sprawled on the cold, wet ground his thin face serious and grave as he scanned the area through the night scope mounted on the stock of his sniper rifle. An eerie, orange-tinted light from the scope transformed darkness into light. Sheets of rain came in cool streaming torrents-making it nearly impossible to see. Michael’s face was so wet it was hard for him to stop his eyes from blinking. Rainwater was rushing off his forehead and rolling off his nose. A cluster of black flies zipped around his face and he instinctively swapped at them. Michael’s dark skin was getting red, as the wind grew stronger. His forehead was burning, but he loved the sensation of the hunt. While scanner the area, Michael thought about Vinnie Acosta. Michael’s mother, Marlina, once was a beautiful woman. She was dark haired and dark eyed and supported Michael by selling her body. When Michael was five, two Irish police officers came to his home where he lived with his grandmother; Marreana and he heard them tell her in an unsympathetic manner that Marlina had been killed by one of her “johns.” Vinnie Acosta was the overseer at one of Pauli’s whorehouses where Marlina worked and he adopted Michael and his sister Merna. Vinnie sent both children to the best Catholic schools and offered to send Michael to college; however Michael decided to join the Marines. After completing basic training Michael applied and was accepted into the Marine Corp Sniper Unit. The Sniper Unit was an elite unit. Only five percent of the applicants made it through the rigid physical and mental training school. The recruits learned how to conceal him in any type of terrain and Michael spent many days and nights concealed in freezing snow and scorching heat. He had laid in a concealed position in the Louisiana swamps, remaining perfectly still as a water moccasin with its flicking tongue crawled his over his body. “Control your breathing, your pulse rate must be between 60-70 ticks a minute, at 85 ticks the weapon will not remain sturdy against your body, at 90 ticks your muscles will constrict and your trigger finger won’t work right, at 100 ticks you lose your motor skills and couldn’t hit an elephant in the ass. One bullet, one kill,” he remembered his Marine Corp sniper instructor say. He could feel his heart beating against the pool of rainwater beneath him on the wet soggy ground. He inhaled and quietly exhaled to slow his heart rate. Michael and Anthony watched Vito as he leisurely strolled towards the rear of the house humming an Italian song.
ANTHONY
Don-don-don’t kill him, Michael, Anthony whispered and touched Michael arm, “I want to make him suffer for what he did to the boss.
MICHAEL
Got you, I’ll take a leg out.
Michael wiped the biting rain from his face. The cold rain became heavier pounding the sidewalk and pinging against windows. The rain splashed across both men face momentarily, causing them to lose sight of their target.
ANTHONY
“The-There he-he is!
Michael used the sleeve of his uniform to wipe the scope and centered the cross hairs on Vito’s right leg. The men waited as a car roared along the street, Michael shuddered, as it passed. There was no sound around him except for his own quiet breathing. Watching Vito in the orange light, he slid his index finger gently down onto the rifle trigger and breathed slowly. His finger took in the slack of the trigger, but before he could squeeze the trigger, Vito whirled and pulled an Uzi machine pistol from under his coat. Vito fired a burst from the weapon into the forested area shattering the nearly bald trees. Anthony hiding behind one of the trees felt the heat and the shock wave as the bullets slammed into the trees. Splinters of wood were suddenly shattering everywhere around him as another loud blasts echoed in the darkness. Slugs of lead slammed into trees and ricocheting off rocks as death defying madness played out in the darkness and rain. Michael rolled to his right, “Fire and Maneuver,” he remembered his drill sergeant saying while at Fort Bragg. After rolling three times to his right, Michael pressed his body against the cold wet ground and rolled to his left. He crawled silently through the dense underbrush; his arms; legs and feet’s working like a primitive hunter’s; warding off branches, over rocks and tangled foliage. Dead pinecones scratched his arms and legs as he tried to maneuver for a kill shot. Through the scope, Michael saw Vito sprinting like an Olympic track runner. Vito was moving swiftly, running in a zigzag pattern into the forest. Michael did not see Anthony. The pleasant smell of evergreen pinecones stuffed his nose as he crawled behind another evergreen and felt himself becoming numb all over from the cold. The wind got stronger and his sweat and soaked uniform were biting cold against his skin as his wavy black hair threw off water.
Anthony’s mind was in a haze as he darted from tree to tree. Bullets tore off bark from the trees and he tripped over a dark slab of rock. Anthony went down on one knee cut his hand and tore his pants. He was up running again through thick bushes that grabbed and ripped at his face and arms. Rat-a-tat! went the weapon again seemingly right in his face. Anthony saw Vito, walking towards him holding the automatic weapon smiling and he could swear he heard Vito singing a country and western tune. Another burst from the machine gun. Anthony screamed as a series of bullets erupted in his chest, knocking him to the ground. Anthony looked down and saw blood smeared on his hands. He twisted and turned eerily in the cool night air. His ears were ringing as he tried to scramble into the woods. Another machine gun blast exploded almost an instant later, shattering his left leg, the pain was excruciating. Anthony started to crawl on his belly, a jarred piece of bone broke through the flesh in his leg and it went limp as his body arched spastically then spun toward the ground. His heart pounded and his chest burned as if on fire. The bullets ricocheted inside his body, breaking bones and puncturing organs as it burst out his back, leaving a bleeding, gaping hole as he watched his heavy brown coat turn red. He pressed his hands against his stomach, and the blood ran between his fingers. Anthony started blinking rapidly as the cold rain beat against his face. He couldn’t feel any pain yet; but he couldn’t move his legs. Laying face down, each breath he took roared through his lungs and his salty blood filled his mouth. Anthony sucked in painful breaths and it felt as if someone had torn open his chest. Anthony watched as his blood mingled and absorbed into the dirty wet mud. His eyes were watering and flickering like a weak electric bulb as he attempted to crawl away, to do something, but he could not move as a death rattle rumbled in his chest. Vito finally appeared from the shadows, ten feet away. He walked forward, stepped over Anthony’s sprawled spread eagle body and stared down at an oily mixture of sweat and stubble on Anthony’s face. Vito stared at Anthony for a long silent moment. Anthony could hear Vito’s heavy breathing and the ejection of the twenty round bullet magazines that Vito threw close to his head and he heard the metallic click of another magazine sliding into the weapon. Suddenly, everything was clear to him, he was going to die. Anthony heard the sliding bolt slipping into the firing position and he felt an immediate sharp pain in his chest and the last sensation he felt was the emptying of his bowels and bladder. Before the last burst of machinegun fire, Michael heard Anthony cry out, “Fuck you asshole,” there was another short burst and then there was silence as Anthony’s dead eyes stared blindly at the dark sky.
Michael lay on the ground panning the area with the scope, but there was no sight of Vito. Sweat drenched his brow as he slowly let out a breath until his body was calm and still, he had not forgotten his training. “Deep breaths slows down the heart and calm the nerves,” the sniper instructors would say to his recruits.
Every one of Michael’s senses was on alert. He cocked his head listening, watching, trusting, no one but himself. He remembered his drill sergeant yelling at the sniper trainees, “Take a deep breath to slow your heart beat, slow
This has got to be done quickly and quietly and under no circumstances can it come back on the family, understood?
Anthony and Michael nodded.
Understood!
EXT. VITO’S HOME-EVENING
For the next two weeks in June, Michael and Anthony stalked Vito and monitored his movements. They noted when he arrived and left his office, where he had dinner and when he went home. Vito usually left his office around 6:00 in the evening. He drove home, fed and played with his dog and around 6:30 he walked to the Restaurante Italian, a family owned restaurant in Oak Lawn, a block from his home. After dinner, he played a round or two of bocce ball with the old timers, left the restaurant around 8:00 PM and casually walked home. The two men watched as Vito entered the rear fenced in yard and stop to play with his dog. Vito surprisingly lived in an elegant two-story bungalow that sat far back on the grounds of a well–kept lawn. A short driveway led to brown oak double front doors, illuminated by antique gaslight lamps. A forested area with tall evergreen trees was a few feet from the back yard. It was 7:30 pm, the long fingers of a bolt of lightning flashed across a darkening sky and seemed to linger. A brisk wind blew across the cold silent lake, ruffling the trees and shrubbery. A loud clap of thunder followed another bright flash of lightening as another distant thunder rumbled. The air was moist and forecasted rain was on the way. Droplets of rain turned into sheets as the two men parked their car two blocks from Vito’s home. The men carefully surveyed the street and watched as the few people on the street hurried to get out of the cool night air, rain and retreat to their comfortable houses. Michael and Anthony waited. Anthony kept a clean, well oiled, Mossberg 500, 10 shot sniper rifle, outfitted with an ambient sniper scope in the trunk of his car. At 7:45, Michael popped the trunk, took out the weapon and loaded it with 10 heavy grain bullets. Michael’s long thin face was buried in the oily collar of a khaki Army raincoat replete with fading corporal stripes and his long black hair blew behind him like bike streamers. He put on a green camouflaged hunting vest over a green camouflaged army uniform and put ten more shells in the pocket and looped the leather sling over his shoulder. Michael had trained as a sniper at Fort Bragg during the Korean War and had ten confirmed kills to his credit before he was dishonorable discharge for fragging, or throwing a hand grenade at a sergeant. Anthony armed with an automatic shotgun loaded with ten rounds of double buckshot’s was ready and eager as they silently darted to the forested area. The two men patiently waited in the rear of Vito’s house. Anthony hid between two tall, fluffy evergreens; his weapon lay across the crook of his left arm. Periodically he closed his eyes, which were tearing badly in the wind and rain. Michael sprawled on the cold, wet ground his thin face serious and grave as he scanned the area through the night scope mounted on the stock of his sniper rifle. An eerie, orange-tinted light from the scope transformed darkness into light. Sheets of rain came in cool streaming torrents-making it nearly impossible to see. Michael’s face was so wet it was hard for him to stop his eyes from blinking. Rainwater was rushing off his forehead and rolling off his nose. A cluster of black flies zipped around his face and he instinctively swapped at them. Michael’s dark skin was getting red, as the wind grew stronger. His forehead was burning, but he loved the sensation of the hunt. While scanner the area, Michael thought about Vinnie Acosta. Michael’s mother, Marlina, once was a beautiful woman. She was dark haired and dark eyed and supported Michael by selling her body. When Michael was five, two Irish police officers came to his home where he lived with his grandmother; Marreana and he heard them tell her in an unsympathetic manner that Marlina had been killed by one of her “johns.” Vinnie Acosta was the overseer at one of Pauli’s whorehouses where Marlina worked and he adopted Michael and his sister Merna. Vinnie sent both children to the best Catholic schools and offered to send Michael to college; however Michael decided to join the Marines. After completing basic training Michael applied and was accepted into the Marine Corp Sniper Unit. The Sniper Unit was an elite unit. Only five percent of the applicants made it through the rigid physical and mental training school. The recruits learned how to conceal him in any type of terrain and Michael spent many days and nights concealed in freezing snow and scorching heat. He had laid in a concealed position in the Louisiana swamps, remaining perfectly still as a water moccasin with its flicking tongue crawled his over his body. “Control your breathing, your pulse rate must be between 60-70 ticks a minute, at 85 ticks the weapon will not remain sturdy against your body, at 90 ticks your muscles will constrict and your trigger finger won’t work right, at 100 ticks you lose your motor skills and couldn’t hit an elephant in the ass. One bullet, one kill,” he remembered his Marine Corp sniper instructor say. He could feel his heart beating against the pool of rainwater beneath him on the wet soggy ground. He inhaled and quietly exhaled to slow his heart rate. Michael and Anthony watched Vito as he leisurely strolled towards the rear of the house humming an Italian song.
ANTHONY
Don-don-don’t kill him, Michael, Anthony whispered and touched Michael arm, “I want to make him suffer for what he did to the boss.
MICHAEL
Got you, I’ll take a leg out.
Michael wiped the biting rain from his face. The cold rain became heavier pounding the sidewalk and pinging against windows. The rain splashed across both men face momentarily, causing them to lose sight of their target.
ANTHONY
“The-There he-he is!
Michael used the sleeve of his uniform to wipe the scope and centered the cross hairs on Vito’s right leg. The men waited as a car roared along the street, Michael shuddered, as it passed. There was no sound around him except for his own quiet breathing. Watching Vito in the orange light, he slid his index finger gently down onto the rifle trigger and breathed slowly. His finger took in the slack of the trigger, but before he could squeeze the trigger, Vito whirled and pulled an Uzi machine pistol from under his coat. Vito fired a burst from the weapon into the forested area shattering the nearly bald trees. Anthony hiding behind one of the trees felt the heat and the shock wave as the bullets slammed into the trees. Splinters of wood were suddenly shattering everywhere around him as another loud blasts echoed in the darkness. Slugs of lead slammed into trees and ricocheting off rocks as death defying madness played out in the darkness and rain. Michael rolled to his right, “Fire and Maneuver,” he remembered his drill sergeant saying while at Fort Bragg. After rolling three times to his right, Michael pressed his body against the cold wet ground and rolled to his left. He crawled silently through the dense underbrush; his arms; legs and feet’s working like a primitive hunter’s; warding off branches, over rocks and tangled foliage. Dead pinecones scratched his arms and legs as he tried to maneuver for a kill shot. Through the scope, Michael saw Vito sprinting like an Olympic track runner. Vito was moving swiftly, running in a zigzag pattern into the forest. Michael did not see Anthony. The pleasant smell of evergreen pinecones stuffed his nose as he crawled behind another evergreen and felt himself becoming numb all over from the cold. The wind got stronger and his sweat and soaked uniform were biting cold against his skin as his wavy black hair threw off water.
Anthony’s mind was in a haze as he darted from tree to tree. Bullets tore off bark from the trees and he tripped over a dark slab of rock. Anthony went down on one knee cut his hand and tore his pants. He was up running again through thick bushes that grabbed and ripped at his face and arms. Rat-a-tat! went the weapon again seemingly right in his face. Anthony saw Vito, walking towards him holding the automatic weapon smiling and he could swear he heard Vito singing a country and western tune. Another burst from the machine gun. Anthony screamed as a series of bullets erupted in his chest, knocking him to the ground. Anthony looked down and saw blood smeared on his hands. He twisted and turned eerily in the cool night air. His ears were ringing as he tried to scramble into the woods. Another machine gun blast exploded almost an instant later, shattering his left leg, the pain was excruciating. Anthony started to crawl on his belly, a jarred piece of bone broke through the flesh in his leg and it went limp as his body arched spastically then spun toward the ground. His heart pounded and his chest burned as if on fire. The bullets ricocheted inside his body, breaking bones and puncturing organs as it burst out his back, leaving a bleeding, gaping hole as he watched his heavy brown coat turn red. He pressed his hands against his stomach, and the blood ran between his fingers. Anthony started blinking rapidly as the cold rain beat against his face. He couldn’t feel any pain yet; but he couldn’t move his legs. Laying face down, each breath he took roared through his lungs and his salty blood filled his mouth. Anthony sucked in painful breaths and it felt as if someone had torn open his chest. Anthony watched as his blood mingled and absorbed into the dirty wet mud. His eyes were watering and flickering like a weak electric bulb as he attempted to crawl away, to do something, but he could not move as a death rattle rumbled in his chest. Vito finally appeared from the shadows, ten feet away. He walked forward, stepped over Anthony’s sprawled spread eagle body and stared down at an oily mixture of sweat and stubble on Anthony’s face. Vito stared at Anthony for a long silent moment. Anthony could hear Vito’s heavy breathing and the ejection of the twenty round bullet magazines that Vito threw close to his head and he heard the metallic click of another magazine sliding into the weapon. Suddenly, everything was clear to him, he was going to die. Anthony heard the sliding bolt slipping into the firing position and he felt an immediate sharp pain in his chest and the last sensation he felt was the emptying of his bowels and bladder. Before the last burst of machinegun fire, Michael heard Anthony cry out, “Fuck you asshole,” there was another short burst and then there was silence as Anthony’s dead eyes stared blindly at the dark sky.
Michael lay on the ground panning the area with the scope, but there was no sight of Vito. Sweat drenched his brow as he slowly let out a breath until his body was calm and still, he had not forgotten his training. “Deep breaths slows down the heart and calm the nerves,” the sniper instructors would say to his recruits.
Every one of Michael’s senses was on alert. He cocked his head listening, watching, trusting, no one but himself. He remembered his drill sergeant yelling at the sniper trainees, “Take a deep breath to slow your heart beat, slow
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