One Hot Night in New Orleans Written by Lee Harvey Guppington

Copyright 2010 LHG LTD.

Lee Harvey Guppington XXXX N. XXXXXX St. Flagstaff, AZ 860XX gup.strong@gmail.com

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FADE IN: INT. SKELTON LEGAL - DAY SIXTO TEMPLIER wrinkles his wizened eyes across the desk at the well manicured ATTORNEY, as she adjusts her blouse with a fidget. An ASSISTANT types as they talk. ATTORNEY Alright mister Templier, what Id like to get to before lunch is your side of the story. Your interpretation of what happened. SIXTO My interpretation? You mean, the real deal. Dont be shy. ATTORNEY Of course. But first if you would just clearly state your name and what you do for a living, please. SIXTO Sixto Templier. Club owner. Uhm, street musician. ATTORNEY Which club, and where? Sixto is distracted by a rodent, chewing down on the floor. He winks at the mouse, whos only focus is its bread crumb. ATTORNEY Mister Templier? SIXTO Oh, The Throb, New Orleans, French Quarter. ATTORNEY Okay, thank you, and look, its just a formality, but do you have any knowledge of Chris Jueng? Maybe where his Impala might-SIXTO Yall need to get off his ass already.

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ATTORNEY Mister Templier, you know you may be facing a great deal of trouble here. A whole downtown block sucked right into the ground. Like quicksand, mister Templier. And word on the street is you have something to say about it. The mouse is steadily climbing the side of the desk. Sixto shifts in his old but well kept suit. ATTORNEY That, you might even be at fault, here. My boss doesnt want me triflin, but if youre harboring Chris Jueng-SIXTO You leave Chris Jueng the fuck out the conversation, dig? We owe that motherfucker. You, hell, we all owe that motherfucker. ATTORNEY Alright. Fine. But if Im supposed to represent you theres a couple things we gotta get straight. Mister Templier... You really think magic is real? SIXTO Haitian Black magic? ATTORNEY Uh huh. SIXTO Bet that narrow ass of yours. The Attorney flops her arms in frustration. ATTORNEY Youre for real about this? And zombies and possession as well? SIXTO Yup. And voodoo. ATTORNEY And, of course, you think I should buy that shit too.

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SIXTO Of course. ATTORNEY Why, mister Templier? SIXTO I assure you, everything you say I believe in is a true to god force of nature on this earth. ATTORNEY Can you show me? I mean, my faith in the miraculous only goes so far. How can-- Shit! The mouse has made the desk and Sixto smashes it under a large legal tome. The Attorney jumps and the Assistant gives a little yelp. The mouse is very dead, broken body and squished bones, foamy blood at the mouth. ATTORNEY Oh, god, thank you mister, jesus, is it dead? Yeah, its dead. Thank you mister Templier. SIXTO Call me Sixto. You were saying? Sixto watches the air above the mouse, following unseen patterns. ATTORNEY That how, how can I see these forces as you call them, as part of the real world? Sixto smiles, tangling his hand through in the air, twirling invisible spaghetti. He finds the breath hanging above the mouse, clasps the invisible thread, and closes his hand. Sixto puffs into his fist and opens it. The mouse inhales, shocked but unharmed. It blinks up at them. Sixto begins to laugh. The Attorney faints and the Assistant screams, going bonkers. EXT. INTERSTATE 49 - DUSK CHRIS JUENG flings down the road, metal blaring from his fly nineteen-sixty-four Impala.

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The car is impeccable, a beautiful candy apple green machine. His black hair and pullover are wet from the rain. INT. IMPALA - CONTINUOUS Chris sees his cell phone light up and dips the volume knob. He snaps his phone open. CHRIS What up, star? ANTON (O.S.) Illin... What time you hit the quarter you think? CHRIS Hour forty-five? Maybe two. ANTON (O.S.) Fo Sho. Hurry up nigga, Im gettin all fucked up waitin. CHRIS Motherfucker, can you at least call me a chink or some shit? ANTON (O.S.) Oh, mybad. Fuckin slope fag... CHRIS Damn, dog, you got that swamp water on the fuckin brain, huh? The fuck they doin to you down there? Wait, no, I get it, thats that fuckin swamp mota you been huffin. ANTON (O.S.) No shit, homes. Yeah, round on about that shit, you ready to puff them lights out? CHRIS And you know this... CHRIS Man! Man! CHRIS Yo, man, Ima see you soon. ANTON (O.S.) Fo Sho. ANTON (O.S.)

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EXT./INT. NEW ORLEANS - HARBOR WAREHOUSE - NIGHT Chris pulls into the Docks, through the crowded market, and onto a back street. A warehouse door opens and Chris drives in. Crates have been shoved aside to make room for a domino table and a Capoeira circle. Several MEN and WOMEN play dominoes, and CAPOEIRA DANCERS spar. Chris parks and opens the trunk. ANTON emerges from the office, do rag and black hoodie. He is followed by CASTILLE, an old dread-head in beaten clothes. ANTON Playa. CHRIS Playboy! They clap hands, slap backs. CHRIS Fuck, dog... They hug again, beaming. ANTON Lemme, god damn its good to see you, homes. Lemme introduce my uncle, Castille. Castille, this is C. J. CHRIS Ive heard so much about you, sir. CASTILLE You got me them tires then, boy? CHRIS Yes sir. CASTILLE You hear him Anton? Real respect for the elders over there. You should take a lesson. Anton rolls his eyes. Chris laughs as he opens his trunk. Castille lights a hand rolled cigar as Chris pulls the tire out. He puffs and examines the tire once its set down. He thumps it with a lighter. ANTON Fuckin A, homeboy...

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CASTILLE Whassat sound, man? He thumps it again, looking dire, dragging the cigar. CASTILLE Fuck you bringin into my house boy? ANTON Uncle, whoa, wait-CASTILLE You showin your ass here, and your little friend here, you gamble wit his life. CHRIS Slow down a minute here-The domino table and the Capoeira Roda have both come to a grinding halt, the silence deafening. CASTILLE No, hell no, we aint slowin up a second here. Castille pulls a pistol, but doesnt point it. CHRIS Shit, man. Anton is speechless as Castille fumes. Castille sees the sweat run a thin bead down Anton, when a snicker escapes from the domino table. Castilles smile sneaks through. He feints. ANTON Uncle. CASTILLE No, now, Im serious, who... ANTON Uncle. Castille has a broad grin spreading. He still fumbles hard talk as he puts his arm around Anton. CASTILLE So, so this is your friend, what rocks in his head chill with the likes of you.

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ANTON Chris my uncles a fucking asshole. CHRIS No, man, its funny. The dominos and Roda have resumed after a good chuckle. Castille beckons Chris into the huddle. CASTILLE Here we go. Now the formalities mean I wrote you the check, then cashed the check at my bank. Cause I own the bank. Now you done good, real good. Got two large for your time, and Anton, the five hundoes from the bar. He hands them each a lump of cash, claps them on the back and they proceed to the back of the warehouse. Castille takes the tire back into office. CHRIS I like him. ANTON Yeah, you would. Listen, I got business to finish in that Roda. You go hold down that, shit, you go show em some west coast bones. Chris smiles and approaches the domino table. Anton swings into the dance, competitive. SERIES OF SHOTS: Chris, holding one domino as everybody knocks. Capoeira Dancers swing. Anton enters the middle. Chris smacks his bone, shaking the table. Piles of cash. Anton head-butts, his lanky OPPONENT, kicks, hand stands. Its a dirty Roda, shoves and slaps. Chris eyeballs a domino, putting one down, scoring half a house. Anton claps hands and backs with his opponent, the Roda dispersing. Chris continues dominating the domino game as Anton approaches, taps one of the players and takes his place. They smack bones, cash piles up, cash sits in front of Chris.

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The domino table empties, pissy shouting in Creole. CHRIS The fuck he say to me? What the hell is that, French? ANTON Its Creole. CHRIS Whatd he, voodoo me? ANTON Somethin about a numbers game and Chinks. Chris stacks up hundreds and twenties. CHRIS Yeah, you fuckin eggplants are probly gonna roll me the second I get out of here. Oh, Ching Chow, lemme see you Bruce Lee this motherfuckin forty-five. Anton rocks a little back in his seat. ANTON Yeah? CHRIS Aw, Kane from Kung-Fu, shit, my cars pretty fuckin niggerish, too. ANTON Fuck makes you think we gonna wait till you outside? Matta fac, whuts we? You lookin at me? CHRIS Its just a fuckin game. Anton picks up a domino, the snake eyes. ANTON Heres a fuckin game. You snatch this bone from my hand, Ill double what youre holding there. CHRIS Im lookin at like, eight K here.

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ANTON I thought you were oriental, man, youre holdin seven thousand forty. CHRIS Asian, fucker. A rug is oriental. ANTON Whatever the fuck ever, you snatch this bone out my black hand with your little yellow one, Ill double what you got on that table. CHRIS Double it? ANTON Straight. CHRIS You dont... Chris shifts his position, slightly, a lion coiling. CHRIS You dont really wanna play games like that with my fast ass, do you? ANTON Twice, straight up. Youre givin me that stack when you fuck it up. CHRIS This is insane. ANTON Come on. Chris feints and Anton slips, squeezing the domino out. Chris snatches it midair, one bounce off the table. CHRIS Thats fourteen thousand and eighty dollars, Anton. Show me the cash. ANTON Shit, man, I dont have that kinda money... CHRIS Oh, hell no.

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ANTON I mean, I dont just roll around with thousands in cash, man. CHRIS No shit, man, go get your home boy in there. ANTON Castille dont owe me no favors. They move towards the garage door of the warehouse. ANTON I can get it though. CHRIS Yeah, I know, you own a bar. ANTON My uncle owns that bar. CHRIS Castille? ANTON Naw, man, Sixto. CHRIS You got a lotta uncles. The door opens to the hot Louisiana night. ANTON Grandpa loved to fuck. Look, thats kinda got be on the back burner anyway. CHRIS The fuck? ANTON I gotta go the airport. CHRIS No, man fuck that-ANTON No, man, fuck you. My girls plane lands in an hour. CHRIS So what the fuck?

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ANTON Tell you what, Ima go pick her up, meet you back at the bar in a couple hours. CHRIS This is shit. ANTON Look, man, are you broke? You aint gonna drink the first half in two hours are you? CHRIS No, man, this is bullshit. I know you, man, I know how this shit works. I turn around and youre back in Haiti or, or fuckin Australia. ANTON For real? Chris leans up against his Impala. ANTON After everything in Cali, you still dont trust me? You know that stings, man. CHRIS Lois Armstrong International, huh? ANTON Yeah. Ill get you your money soon. CHRIS Huh uh. Get in. INT. IMPALA - NIGHT The boys cruise toward the airport as the storm lessens. CHRIS You better have a picture. ANTON Fuck yeah, I get the picture. You still think I might fuck ya. But you right though, dog, I might fuck ya.

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CHRIS No man, you better have a picture of the girl. ANTON Oh, shit... yeah. Anton taps on his cell phone. The picture on it is a gorgeous Haitian WOMAN smiling radiantly. ANTON Look at her, man. CHRIS Alright. Yeah, shes pretty. ANTON Pretty? Man, shes a ten. CHRIS Cant call a ten from a pic. ANTON You just gotta take my word for it then, yo. Shes got these amazing gray eyes, and the butt like kapow. You gotta feel me, man, I been hustlin so hard-CHRIS Hustlin subtle? ANTON My subtle hustle, smooth as mothers butter. I let it ride on, I let it ride on. CHRIS ...smooth as mothers butter. I let it ride on, I let it ride on.

ANTON For serious, though, man, Ive worked my fuckin ass off to get her on that plane. CHRIS Yeah? Whats her name? ANTON Angie. CHRIS Angie from Haiti.

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ANTON I mean, you dig dog, its not just that I hate payin you, or how much it is. I mean, I do hate payin you... CHRIS Especially that much. ANTON Especially that much. But I stayed up all night gamblin and fightin and shit. Like I could sleep even if I wanted to. CHRIS Right. ANTON Damn, dog... Serious, I jumped through a lot of fuckin hoops to get this shit happening. EXT./INT. LOUIS ARMSTRONG INTERNATIONAL - MOMENTS LATER The candy apple green Impala glides smooth into the parking garage. The boys climb out. A minivan opens and four THUGS climb out with rags flying. They have Austrian Glocks tucked into their pants, following behind Chris and Anton a few hundred feet. INT. LOUIS ARMSTRONG INTERNATIONAL - TERMINAL - CONTINUOUS Chris immediately notices AMY LEE, gorgeous, straight black hair, thigh highs and what could only be properly called a power mini skirt. She haughtily ignores his smile. The four thugs enter, through a large metal detector. The guns do not register in the machine. ANTON Shes royalty, too man. CHRIS How do you know that? ANTON No not her, man, Angie, my girl, shes descended from like, African holy men.

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CHRIS Yeah? ANTON Shit, man, here we go. Chris has been oblivious since spying Amy. He wades through the crowd to her. The thugs size up security. CHRIS Girl, I know youre tired. Youve been runnin through my head all day. AMY My god that is some old shit. How about, uh, if you could point me to the exit of your head, Im just gonna go ahead and keep on running. CHRIS Come on now, girl, its the Asian persuasion. AMY Youre about to persuade me to call fuckin security. One of the thugs slumps into Chris. CHRIS What are you, fucking drunk? THUG #1 is stoned, glazed and out of touch. THUG #2 steadies him. THUG #2 Thats my homie, yo. As thug #2 escorts thug #1 towards the security gate, Chris balls up a fist that Amy halts with a single finger. AMY Dont. Look at their rags. This is trouble. I dont know what theyre doing here but this is so not cool. The thugs line the wall near the arriving PASSENGERS. Chris watches them watch the crowd. When he turns back, Amy is nowhere to be found. Passengers continue debark, filing through the crowd, and the four thugs edge closer.

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As two INDIAN WOMEN finish at security, the thugs look them over. Thug #2 starts toward her, when thug #1 stops him with a sloppy gesture. Without a look thug #1 acquiesces. INDIAN WOMAN #1 What up bitch? AMY What the fucks up, cunts? INDIAN WOMAN #2 Jet lags draggin a bitch. AMY Come on, yall. They move towards the exit when ANGIE gets off the plane. She is radiant, amazing, huge curly hair and beautiful sundress. The thugs move, thug #1 suddenly not drunk at all. He clamps Angies hand in an iron grip. He pulls his plastic firearm and erupts violence into the airport, while the other three thugs grab SECURITY GUARDS. Anton charges, furious. Thug #1 wraps Angie hostage and draws a bead on Anton. The recoil, the flash, the noise. Chris spear tackles Anton, just in time to miss the bullet, the window behind exploding. Thug #1 tracks, fires again as Chris shoves Anton behind a metal desk, jumping over it himself, ducking. The voice of thug #1 is identical to thug #2. THUG #1 Get back out here and die! The other three thugs hold guns on security personnel. Thug #2 shoots out a window behind them. The thugs throw security personnel into a motorized luggage cart below, driven by a glazed-eyed DESK CLERK. The guards crumple as they hit the rack of the cart. The thugs jump out after, using the guards to cushion their fall. By the time they drop Angie through the window, the rack is filled with a red spreading mattress of meat and broken bone. Anton pops his head up just in time to see Thug #1 jump down from the window. Chris and Anton run to its opening. The cart pulls forward.

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ANTON Can you jump that, man? CHRIS Yeah. Chris tenses, bounces on the balls of his feet. CHRIS No. ANTON Fuck. Anton stares out the window at the departing luggage cart. ANTON Fuck fuck fuck. Lets go. They tear through the terminal, racing on foot. INT. LOUIS ARMSTRONG INTERNATIONAL - PARKING GARAGE - NIGHT Anton and Chris sprint to the Impala. Upstairs, the luggage cart smashes a car next to the minivan that brought the thugs. They climb out, duct tape over Angies mouth and around her hands, and load up. Thug #1 gives the desk clerk his gun as he climbs into the driver seat. The desk clerk immediately shoots himself in the mouth, falling dead beside the van as it peels out. Amy Lee has found her way to her own car, and Chris slams the brakes when he sees her loading the two Indian women into her massive Bel Aire. CHRIS You see somethin? INDIAN WOMAN #1 Well, for New Orleans, not really. No. ANTON Really? Come on, did you see them dudes? Amy is about to speak, when the minivan squeals around the corner. She points. Chris floors it, playing chicken in the parking garage.

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To the boys dismay, winning chicken isnt the best chase strategy. The minivan deftly dodges the Impala, tearing out of the garage as Chris nearly collides with an oncoming Semi. They scream in the parking lot as the Impala flips around, giving chase towards the exit. A semi truck pulls in front, slowing their pursuit as the minivan speeds off. INT. IMPALA - MOMENTS LATER Chris is focused on driving while Anton fumes with rage. ANTON What the fuck man! Didnt you bring a fuckin gun? CHRIS Fuck no I didnt bring a gun to the fuckin airport. ANTON Why the fuck not? CHRIS I didnt plan on Louis Armstrong turning into a shooting gallery. Who were those guys? ANTON From the rags they looked like H.P. Disciples. Listen, theres this warehouse they hang out in just outside the french quarter. CHRIS Hang out as in wait to fuckin die? ANTON You sure youre down? CHRIS Down like syndrome, dog. The awesome machine surges down I-10 towards the Quarter. Exit and SERIES OF SHOTS: New Orleans revelers party in the streets. The Impala cuts, gliding down narrow avenues.

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On the street the boys smooth past BARON SAMEDI, an ancient black man, wizened skull beneath a top hat. He sips a glass of rum and holds a cigar in his bony fingers. The french quarter, the white walls of the Impala tires. EXT. NEW ORLEANS - FRENCH QUARTER - NIGHT The Impala prowls, Chris scanning over the steering wheel. ANTON Bend this left, here. They turn down a dim lit alleyway. A PROCESSION leads in from the other side. Chris slumps down, stopped by pedestrians. CHRIS What is this, some of your Mardi Gras shit? ANTON Theyre carryin a coffin, yo. CHRIS Those rags on top of the casket? ANTON Yeah, thems peeps from around the way. We cool. Disciples line a hit out on somebody here. Whoever lined out that hit? Thats what those rags are. Whoever lined it out. Chris reaches up to adjust his rear view. In the reflection, a few THUGS dip in and out of alleys, Wearing rags that match the color on the casket. The color from the airport. CHRIS Disciples? ANTON Yeah. Some click started in Chicago. No roots here. CHRIS And uh... funeral hits? ANTON Naw man. Hell no. Thats some of that L.A.

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These boysll street fight with sticks and shit before they just straight hit in the middle of town. The gunblast erupts. The coffin hits the ground. CHRIS Looks like the dirty south just took a lesson from the west coast. A THUG opens up with an AR-15, ripping into the funeral procession. MEN draw weapons and exchange fire. Chris and Anton duck in the front seat. CHRIS Oh, god, my fucking car. The fire subsides and a single MAN walks from where the funeral procession disappeared. He stretches a length of chain. THUGS from the Disciples crew emerge from around the Impala. The street fight is on! GANGSTERS bash one another with chains, sticks, two by fours. They scrap fierce in the street, dancing the ancient dance of war. Chris and Anton poke their heads up to see the craziness of the fray, the men fighting a modern interpretation of the most ancient custom among men. In a dim corner of the alley, trash begins to congeal. The screams of the fighting men have become a cacophonous din, and several have been reduced to fighting hand to hand, a weird, acrobatic style, Capoeira and Shotokan. Empty crates of rum rattle, a dust devil squeezing its way into reality from beneath it. The gangsters continue beating the hell out of one another. One runs clutching a ruined eye, two men gang up on one and are then cleaved with a machete. The vines hanging from a balcony tremble and clump. CHRIS I just wanna floor it, yo.

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ANTON Man, if your ride aint fucked up now, it will be you go rompin these gangsters. The trash is lumped up funny. A THUG swings on somebody, to have his arm miss, yanked at the foot, balance askew. A mangy arm grips his ankle from the trash pile. The vines stubbornly fall, impeding the chase of one of the wounded gangsters. It clings stubborn, tenacious; weird leafy hands clambering over him in judo holds. The wind beneath the rum crates coalesces life, snatching the breath right out of another thug as its impetus erupts into motion. They are the ZUMBIES THREE, and they have come to wreak the havoc of once every forty some odd Mardi Gras. The vines have become not living mass but rotting corpse, undead of birthless and stinking of growth and order. The wind from beneath the rum crates is sudden motion, eroding and randomizing the lives of the men around it, the very storm condensed into limbs. CHRIS What the hell is that? And the trash zumbi, the ritual of decay, pulls himself into reality through the muck. He spins and flops the body he grabbed moments before. He cracks the skull on pavement, scooping cranial innards and taking a lusty bite. CHRIS Dude, hes eating it. The gangsters have forgotten their squab, instead focussing on the beasts that now swim through both of their ranks. They open back up with guns to do nothing. Some flee, others die by the hands of the Zumbies Three. They occasionally pause their reverie of carnage for a snatch of tasty brain, spinning in gymnastic tumbles, killing wildly. CHRIS Did you see him fucking eat it? ANTON Fuck all this.

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Chris stomps the gas. The Zumbie Three each take turns dancing out of the way, mocking the car as they continue their slaughter. At the other side of the alleyway once again is BARON SAMEDI, only this time he is no frail oldster. This massive hulk of wretched energy stretches, black as night to the top of his top hat. The ink swirls about him in flurries, tiny storms of darkness and evil magnetized to him, chasing round the brow of his grinning skull head. Chris leans on the horn and Baron Samedi grabs his crotch, grinning. As the car comes toward him, he dissipates, losing his solidity into an inky mist. ANTON Dont breathe! Chris tries, too late, and begins coughing. The Impala grinds to a halt as Chris leans out, vomiting. Anton jumps out, pulling Chris from the vehicle as Baron Samedi re-configures. CHRIS What the hell was that? ANTON Come on! Dont look at him! Anton pulls Chris on foot down the alley, yanking him into a headlong run as he stumbles, wiping his mouth. They round a bend and come to a hard stop. They almost step on the THUGS from the airport, Holding shotguns and, is that a rocket propelled grenade on that guys shoulder? THUG #1 Hey hey. Templier. THUG #2 Thats a beautiful car, Anton. CHRIS Looks like youve gotten more popular here, too. ANTON Move, asshole! The thugs open up their weapons as Anton and Chris duck, diving out of the way.

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The only exit points them back to the alley where the Zumbies Three continue to churn gangsters in a whirlwind of death. Chris sees the vacant spot where his car was, while Anton observes the chaos in the alley. CHRIS My ride! ANTON Fuck the ride, we dont move somethin its gonna be your ass, too! CHRIS What the hell are those things? ANTON Come on! Anton leads down another tiny section of alley, busts open a cellar window and dives through. INT. NEW ORLEANS - FRENCH QUARTER - CELLAR - CONTINUOUS Chris follows, Anton slamming the tiny entrance. A THUG emerges from the shade, approaches, and Chris immediately lays him out with a fierce roundhouse. Another THUG pulls his shirt up to reveal a nine millimeter. He speaks in French to Anton. ANTON Whoa! Whoa! Chill, dude. I know these cats. Chris looks them over and relaxes. CHRIS Sorry bout your friend. ANTON The Disciples run with Saturday Distributing, kind of like a front for their illegal shit. CHRIS Like a fence? ANTON Not exactly. Its more like they answer to Saturday.

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CHRIS Aight. And your homies up their, the other rags, whos mopping them the fuck up out there? Anton exchanges with the thug again, in French, fast. ANTON He says it was the Zumbie Three. He says theyre taken aspects. CHRIS Taken Aspects? Three zombies? ANTON Zumbie, but, aspects, like eye closed, half open, then open. Chaos, control and decay. Anton and the thug spatter back and forth again. ANTON Theyre what really happens when you dream that you die. CHRIS Chaos control and decay? How about that Mardi Gras clown, the special effect there I almost made into a speed bump? The top door bursts in and the shuffle of feet is quick, descending into the basement. ANTON Hurry, dog! Anton and Chris rush through a side door, stomping up a set of stairs, and into a small storage room. They burst through, into a tiny, packed hole-in-the-wall bar, then out into the crowded city street. EXT. NEW ORLEANS - FRENCH QUARTER - NIGHT They street is clogged with drunks, tourists, hustlers. Chris and Anton Shout to hear one another. CHRIS Dude, I dont even care how much money it is, Im out of here. Wheres my, what do you niggas call em? My whip?

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ANTON Fuck you, listen, we goin to the Throb. CHRIS Oh, fuck yeah, nows the time, lets go get fucked up! ANTON The only people that can get my fuckin girl, or your niggerish ass whip back are down at the fuckin throb. I aint goin anywhere near but Ima go right fuckin back with my gun, motherfucker. Anton marches, digging out his cell phone. Chris follows as Anton connects a call. ANTON Brad? Whats up. I need you to clear your action item list. EXT./INT. THE THROB NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT The nightclub jumps, Chris and Anton weaving their way through. The club is living up to its name, pulsing vibrant with energy. SIXTO TEMPLIER is sipping an Abita beer at the bar. The music is impossibly loud, true death metal in the french quarter. SIXTO Anton! And is this young Chris! Look at you, boy! CHRIS Its a pleasure to see you again, sir. SIXTO You look like vexed young men, you do. Tell me about what makes you make them faces now. ANTON Uncle, I think maybe upstairs, yo. SIXTO You boys head up there, Ima finish my beer, cool cool?

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ANTON Thanks, uncle. INT. THE THROB NIGHTCLUB - UPSTAIRS - CONTINUOUS In the spacious office, Amy Lee sits discussing with BRADFORD HEMNSHAW, a short haired creole in a dark green suit. Anton leads, seeing Amy with a groan, and Chris follows, immediately locking eyes with her. CHRIS Whats up? AMY Oh, god, your played ass... ANTON Yeah, Amy Lee? This is my buddy Chris. Chris shes our lawyer, so try not to fuck that up for us. Want you to meet my bar manager, Brad. Brad, you get some kinda word? CHRIS Hey, use your cell phone dog? Mines in the glove box. ANTON In the Impala? BRAD Cherry green Impala? CHRIS Boss under the hood, hops, competition sound? BRAD Bunch of death metal CDs? CHRIS Wheres my Impy? Brad pulls several death metal CDs from his briefcase. He hands them to Chris, who shuffles them, examining. BRAD Bad news about the car, man. The H.P. Disciples stole it after you took off. Oh, and the girl?

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ANTON Angie? BRAD Most likely taken to the knocking shop on Canal Street. AMY Look, part of this is my fault. The girls I picked up are part of a refugee program, and these pieces of shit comb airports pickin up fresh meat. CHRIS How does that make it your fault? AMY All my records are public. Its a legal thing. Im pickin up girls from southern Nepal, and they find it in public records. A girl fresh off the boat, so to speak, is vulnerable to things an American girl wouldnt ever fall for. ANTON She wasnt hustled, dammit, she was kidnapped at gunpoint! Sixto enters, the dull throb of the club crescendos, then dips again as the door shuts. CHRIS Yeah, then the funeral? And that, what the top hat motherfucker, like some lame goth Willy Wonka disappearing into thin air? And Im throwin up? SIXTO Top hat? Sixto sits down, pulls a hand made cigar from a desk drawer. He lights it, breathing deeply of its oily smoke. SIXTO Anton. Come here. Anton walks to the desk where Sixto hands him the cigar. He puffs it and looks at Chris.

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SIXTO He spit atcha didnt he? Maybe called you somethin shitty, like, cocksucker? Say somethin about your moms tits? CHRIS Grabbed his crotch. SIXTO Gotcha, then... Anton hands the cigar back, pushing a big drag back out, Sixto pointing at the smoke. SIXTO Poof! AMY Are you two the only ones in the room? Amy walks over to the desk and Sixto hands her the cigar. She pulls deep. SIXTO Anton, The Baron on the street? CHRIS The Baron? ANTON The Baron Samedi. Yeah, uncle. Middle of the road. CHRIS What does that even mean? Amy brings the end of the blunt towards Brad, who waves her off. She pulls once more, dumps it still smoking in the ashtray. SIXTO Patron saint of death, little papa. Dionysian, but Hades too. Hes a stir in the blender of the avenue, death in Mardi Gras. ANTON Its not like that.

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AMY Baron Rex Samedi, owner operator of Saturday Trading, I think hes had live warrants for his arrest since the fifties? But hes in so deep with N.O.P.D. that nobody can get near him? ANTON Thats an exaggeration, Amy, they cleared him in the Eighties. Hes not a demon, either, uncle. I dont give a damn if he is! Hes got Angie! BRAD I dont know that was the case, A.T. I think them Disciples could have been acting of their own accord. AMY Like I said, they cruise there. Sixto stands up, gathers a few things. He stuffs some papers from his desk into his baggy jeans. SIXTO Ima go see Castille. Yall call me. Matter of fact, dont do nothin, okay? Sixto exits. The music from outside again pulses into the office. ANTON Fuck that. Fuck all that. Im goin to Canal Street. CHRIS Fuck yeah, homes. Ima ride witcha. AMY You cant! You cant just roll up in there and kick the fuckin doors down. They pay taxes. BRAD Or enough in kickbacks. So what do we do? AMY We send in a ringer.

30.

The three of them look at Chris. EXT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - LATER Amy Lees car, the massive pink Bel Aire, bends down Canal Street under a steadily thickening rain. The fog twists around the car. The Knocking Shops traffic flows steady, business and tourist class. INT. AMY LEES CAR - CONTINUOUS Chris is dressed in a silly looking pink polo shirt, collar popped, thick glasses. He combs his hair to the side with his fingers in the rear view. He sits shotgun, Anton and Brad in the back seat. AMY Too bad we dont have time to frost the tips. ANTON You didnt have khakis? CHRIS God, I look ridiculous. AMY Thats the point. CHRIS You know Ive never done this shit before, right? Like, paid for it? ANTON Just act like youre buyin a bag of weed, man. They watch clientele in and out of the doors. CHRIS Lotta bags of weed movin. AMY Bag of weed only gets sold once. A woman can be sold over and over. Fucked up thing is every cop know this place is here, but la buena yerba getcha five to ten on possession.

31.

ANTON Its not legal, its more like the cops damn near run em under with freebies. AMY Either way, You gotta be a douchebag to even go in there. CHRIS Gotcha. Douchbag. Chris climbs out and head towards the door, the rain painting the street slick and reflective. INT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - CONTINUOUS Chris walks in shaking the rain off. The HOSTESS, an older Creole woman, regards him cautiously. CHRIS Howdy maam. The boys in Delta Chi told me that uh, well... This is the Knocking Shop, right? HOSTESS Just have a seat in the foyer. Look through the picture books there, okay? INT. AMY LEES CAR - CONTINUOUS Amys cell phone buzzes and she snaps it open. AMY Hey, whats up. Yeah, up the block from there. You see my car? Yeah just, just park. Ill be there in a sec. ANTON Who was that? AMY My girl Karen. Shes been helping me build this case from day one. I cant leave her out of this shit. ANTON Case?

32.

AMY What, you think the Throbs Noise complaints pay my salary? Hold the fort down, boys. Amy ducks out of the car, covering her face from the rain. INT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - MOMENTS LATER Chris flips through the book, seeing pictures of beautiful girls, none matching Angie. CHRIS Is this uhm, is this all the girls? HOSTESS Misses Prejean will answer all of your questions. MADAME PREJEAN emerges from behind a beaded door. She smiles at Chris, radiant the way only a saleswoman can beam. MADAME PREJEAN Hello young man. What can I help you with? CHRIS Well, miss, I like dark meat, with real curly hair. MADAME PREJEAN Ah, old girlfriend? CHRIS Yeah. Do you uh... MADAME PREJEAN Dont be shy, now, honey. What is it? CHRIS Can I ask for like, a new gal? Maybe one that hasnt ah... You know, been so far around the block? INT. KAREN DOUCETS CAR - CONTINUOUS The passenger door pops and Amy Lee climbs in, smiling at KAREN DOUCET. Karen is beautiful, olive skinned, slender and lanky, poised and dry as Amy shoves wet hair from her face.

33.

KAREN Im surprised you even got this close. AMY They know my face, not my car. Besides, its gonna go from water to frogs out here. Listen, I got contact inside. KAREN Did you recruit somebody? AMY Not exactly. Antons girl got kidnapped at the airport. Probably instead of the girls I got today. He showed up at the Throb talkin about the H.P. Disciples, and this is the spot they would bring her. KAREN Whos in there? Anton? AMY No, hell no, Antons little friend. Dude Chris. Hes kinda clueless but hes all hots for me. Do anything I ask at this point. KAREN Youre a bitch, Amy. Amy only smiles a killer grin. INT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - BOUDOIR - CONTINUOUS The WHORE that Chris sits with has curly hair, but is no fresh meat here in the bordello. She is bony, sunken eyes. We see the black on her molars when she laughs. CHRIS So, how long you been uh... WHORE Really? Just this weekend and shit, honey. You probably wanna fold your nice shirt over the table there.

34.

CHRIS Sure, uh, yeah, dont wanna make a mess... Do you girls all know each other? WHORE You gonna ask me questions about work, or you gonna drill me, mister? Chris folds his shirt and sits down on the bed. The whore straddles him, smiling. EXT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - CONTINUOUS Behind the building, a dumpster rattles. The hot water heater pops, pressing steam. The mold in the rafters clumps. INT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - CONTINUOUS Madame Prejean opens a separate door into a hall, then nods at a SECURITY GUARD. She opens yet another door, to see Angie, tied, curly hair and lanky limbs limp on the floor. Madame Prejean nods to the guard. MADAME PREJEAN You see some fratty chink kid nosin around, you break his ass and bring it to me. You heard? The security guard nods, and the Madame looks at Angie. INT. AMY LEES CAR - CONTINUOUS Anton fidgets, nervous, while Brad stares hard at the knocking shop through sheets of rain. ANTON Its been way too long. BRAD Relax, papa. ANTON I mean, how long does it take to fake buying a hooker?

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BRAD You go in there playin cowboy and youre gonna get his ass shot. You know that right? Shot. EXT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - CONTINUOUS The Zumbies Three pull themselves into reality, clawing and climbing into the bordello. INT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS The doors bust open and patrons begin running, half clothed, from rooms that explode with blood. A massive orgy of violence begins as the plants fuck the building, gaining ground and ripping out the toilets. Water beads at the edges of rooms, hardwood floors sag. The wind tugs at the foundation, the framing bows. The Trash Zumbie, spinning deathly Capoeira, rummages off the walls to tumble Madame Prejean in her fancy dress all face down in the corridor. The security guard follows suit... kind of. The Trash Zumbie, harbinger of all decay, collapses the security guards face with a series of headbutts. As he smashes his face on the guards, the Trash Zumbie regenerates his own softening skull in stretchy shakes. Climbing over the mash faced corpse, he grabs Angie at the waist, rips her bonds, flings her over his shoulder, and makes for the roof by way of fire escape. INT. AMY LEES CAR - CONTINUOUS Brad and Anton sit agitated. ANTON Way, way too much time now. How longs it take to say, Yeah, black girl, curly hair... BRAD Just sit the hell tight, papa. Anton is grinding his teeth as he watches the still on the street.

36.

BRAD Seriously, man, let him pick up. EXT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - NIGHT The Trash Zumbie whistles from the top of the building, and the Wind and Growth Zumbies go to work on the joint, a weird mold man and the condensed wind bringing hell to the bordello. The very foundation begins to give as Trash Zumbie carries Angie off into the night. INT. CANAL STREET - THE KNOCKING SHOP - HALLWAY - EARLIER Chris bounds from the room. He watches Trash Zumbie jump the room and with Angie over its shoulder and gives chase. The wind itself combines to make a dead body before him. He swings at this apparition, which grabs him and plants him. Undaunted, Chris stands with the posture. The gusty undead fights like a man smelling spring who has spent his whole life in winter. Chris is fast, damn fast, but this spiral of tornado is owning him. INT./EXT. AMY LEES CAR - CONTINUOUS Chris flings out the door as the Trash Zumbie hops Angie to the roof, then out into the stormy Louisiana eve. Hurricane Chris touches down, scattering prostitutes and Johns. The front of the brothel is absolute pandemonium. ANTON Motherfucker I told you it was too long! As the Growth Zumbie disappears, the framing to the foundation slips apart, the building crumbling down fast. INT. AMY LEES APARTMENT - LATER Chris, Amy, Anton, Brad and Karen stumble in, Chris carried between Amy and Anton. He is scraped, but not broken.

37.

CHRIS Like the, like the god damn wind come alive and judo chopped me! Dirty, smelly one, homie, he grabbed her, and Im... Man that was unreal. Did I get dosed? Man, where are we? AMY My apartment. Its my office too, so dont touch anything. Amy ducks past them, into the bedroom. The two Indian Women from the airport sleep in there. Amy re-emerges with a bottle of ibuprofen, gives it to Chris, who slumps down on the couch. KAREN What the hell are those things? Zombies? BRAD Not like, well, not undead. Theyre aspects, not men but... ANTON Theyre called Zumbies. The Zumbies Three. Chaos, growth and decay. KAREN Amy filled me in, Chris, and its just not feasible that Baron Samedi would have shown his face on the street. CHRIS Well it did happen. Just like I told you, dissolving and then reappearing like some fucking Criss Angel shit. AMY If they took Angie, theres only one place they could have gone. ANTON Saturday Import Export. A clap of thunder shakes the roof, resounding.

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KAREN If Baron Samedi showed his face on the street, somebody would have been there to put hot ones in him. Hes too high profile. CHRIS Who are you? KAREN Karen Doucet. Ive been trying to build this case with Amy for the last six months. CHRIS Case? Youre a Lawyer? KAREN Nobody tells you anything do they? CHRIS No. Dammit, no, Ive just been dragged into this shit blind. And its about time somebody took five minutes to clue me in. Anton looks around, tentative. ANTON The straight dope? CHRIS No candy shell. ANTON The only thing I know is that son of a bitch has Angie. The lightning snaps and the thunder roars again, this time cutting the power to the apartment. The streetlights cast an ambient glow through the rain. ANTON And Im not fuckin around no more. Im going. AMY Where? Its coming down out there. ANTON Saturday Import Export. Now.

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AMY Thats the most dangerous place in this whole city. You arent just gonna waltz in and out of there-ANTON Yes I am, chick. Like Jay-Z swingin in, get my awards, and back out before Kanye can come tell me how much better the last award show was. CHRIS No, man. Like Dre and Snoop. You know Ima ride with you. ANTON Thanks, blood. Chris and Anton exchange a determined look. CHRIS Alright, look. We roll on these bitches tonight. You three hold it down at The Throb, and well call you before midnight. ANTON Lets do this shit. EXT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - NIGHT The rain comes down in sheets. Anton and Chris wear orange vests and hard hats. Chris holds a spool of ethernet wire. CHRIS We gotta be on point for this. ANTON You cant even see me, dog. Chris bends down and hacks a cord going into a junction box. As he leans, a nine millimeter pistol sticks out from the back of his baggy jeans. CHRIS Lets go to work.

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INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - FRONT DESK - CONTINUOUS The DESK CLERKS are still tapping the dead phones when Chris and Anton walk in. Chris affects his strongest broken English Chinese voice. Anton translates into French. CHRIS Oh, Herro! I Come, you fix phone! The desk clerks barely make eye contact. CHRIS Central Junction! You point for basement, I come for Internet! Schedule maintenance. Cox call you, twenty four hour! Anton slaps Chris on the arm, points to the door marked Basement. CHRIS Oh, shank you! Shank you very much! The boys walk to the door as the one of the desk clerks disgustedly hangs up a phone. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - BASEMENT - MOMENTS LATER Chris and Anton shed their hard hats and begin scouring the room. A sealed door in the corner stares back at them. CHRIS Whats that say on the door? ANTON White women. Fried chicken. Niggers welcome. CHRIS Fuck off. ANTON It says employees only. Come on. INT. THE THROB NIGHTCLUB - UPSTAIRS - NIGHT From the door. Brad watches Sixto lay tarot cards, a Celtic Cross spread. Castille sits across, watching the cards.

41.

Karen and Amy approach Brad, Karen startles him with a pinch. KAREN This sucks. Fuckin midnight? AMY We have to act. We cant just sit here with our thumbs up our asses. BRAD Settle the kettle now, fore that shit steams and screams. SIXTO The hanged man, he sways in the winds of the coming storm. Amy looks at Sixto, then Castille. KAREN Who the fuck is this? SIXTO Hes my brother. Castille, this is Amy Lee, the reason that the feds havent shut the club down in almost a year. Whos your pretty friend? AMY Karen Doucet, Sixto Templier, one of my clients. SIXTO Maam. If you ladies will excuse... He flips over more cards. AMY Were serious, Brad, this sittin here waiting is bullshit. KAREN We know where everybody is. Lets just bust their doors down and-SIXTO Thats a bad idea. CASTILLE Real bad.

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KAREN Why? Sixto flips the cards, dropping Devil, Tower, and the Eight of swords. SIXTO Now we must rally. Prepare. Make strong our impetus. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - BASEMENT - MOMENTS LATER Chris and Anton creep through the gloom. ANTON There aint no dust or cobwebs in this corner. Chis puts up a hand. CHRIS You feel that? ANTON Wind. They poke around the wall, seeing a crack. They move a box, and the crack opens, sliding open a hidden stairway door. CHRIS You found the latch. ANTON Uhm... Yeah... Yeah, I think so, man. Anton pokes a button and it opens, revealing a stairway. CHRIS Arent we below sea level here? ANTON Come on, Chris. They begin to descend, when the door slams shut behind him. They exchange a look, and the stairs flatten into a ramp. The boys slide down, Careening into empty space. The gun from the back of Chriss pants flips out into gravity. Fifty feet down, they splash into brackish murk.

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INT. THE THROB NIGHTCLUB - UPSTAIRS - NIGHT Sixto, Castille and Amy sit around the table, bowls of gumbo, beers, and tarot cards. SIXTO Of course creole is confusing. Look at all the influences; the harbor, Texas and Mexico just west, Florida just a stones toss... CASTILLE Got the Catholic tradition mixing with the slave religions, the Yoruba ways. SIXTO All by way of Haiti, of course. CASTILLE Of course. Then landed here, stirring into the American gumbo. SIXTO Still, even Baron Samedi cant make gumbo without okra. CASTILLE Im pretty sure okra isnt in his recipe, Sixto. Amy watches the cards that Sixto absent mindedly flips, shuffling one handed. AMY What is in his gumbo, anyway? SIXTO He is a spirit. Who wears the skin of a man. CASTILLE A man unhinged from his marriage. SIXTO He wants a divorce. But there are no divorces among the Loa. AMY The Loa?

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SIXTO Tribal spirits, given awkward reality here in the new world. They come from ancient times... In South America their worship is buried among the tribes, right behind the saints. AMY And Samedi, what is he the saint of? CASTILLE Liquor. Tobacco. Fuckin. SIXTO He is the Loa of fertility and death. Loose women and drunks. CASTILLE But now hes pissed. And he wants to be a real man. Like some drugged out, skull faced Pinnochio. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - NIGHT Chris and Anton swim the muck towards the light. The water is dirty, littered with human remains. The light they approach, the only light in the murky cave, is a grate, and from the grate grinning down is the Wind Zumbie. CHRIS Well... At least we know where we are. ANTON Yeah. Fucked. INT. NEW ORLEANS - UNDERGROUND - NIGHT Anton is unconscious, tied to a gurney. The Wind Zumbie slaps Chris down, turns his attention to Anton. CHRIS Come back and do that when Im... Chris spits blood, still on the ground. The Wind Zumbie slaps him up, Chris stumbles, holding his mouth.

45.

The Wind Zumbie snatches his eye contact, then pulls his lungs empty, bulging his eyes. The Wind Zumbie flops Chris onto a gurney, and black bags are pulled over his and Antons head. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - HALLWAY - LATER Chris and Anton are reeled down the hall by the Wind and Growth Zumbies. They enter a door to a festive but empty room. As they exit the hallway, the space bubbles, shortens, and changes its dimensions. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE - CONTINUOUS The room hangs streamers from vicious gargoyles. The teeth glint as Chris and Anton are wheeled in. The gurneys are rotated ninety degrees. The boys are half standing, half suspended, as the Growth Zumbie, fingers like wound vines, removes the bags over their heads. Chris and Anton look around bewildered. CHRIS This look familiar to you? You been here before? ANTON Hell no, man, I-His is silenced in a gasp as the Wind Zumbie pulls the air from both of them, emptying their lungs by force. The Wind Zumbie holds a finger to his lip as if to say, Shhhh... He beckons and a gust opens a set of double doors, and ancient, wizened black man in a top hat and coat hustles a walker towards them. The Wind Zumbie leaves them, swinging the doors closed behind him with concentrated gusts. CHRIS Look, we need to speak to a Baron Samedi, if you could maybe page him or--

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BARON SAMEDI Whon the fuck you think I am, youngster? CHRIS No, no, Baron Samedi is-BARON SAMEDI Somebody ever tell you about how a closed mouth gathers no fuckin foot? Baron Samedi lights his cigar, billowing smoke into the room. On the side of his walker is a cup holder, with a rocks glass of syrupy booze. CHRIS This doesnt make any sense. BARON SAMEDI I aint here to make sense to your dumb ass. Im loa, not a fuckin miracle worker. CHRIS What the fuck ever. Wheres my car, asshole? BARON SAMEDI Whatever the motherfuckin ever! You aint chased no car here, youre after a girl! ANTON Angie! BARON SAMEDI Angie! An angels name, for damn sure. A Yoruba princess hasnt made it here since before the revolutionary war! I aint fixin to wait no three hundred more fuckin years. Tell me her familys name. ANTON Eat shit! Baron Samedi recoils, pissed. He rattles his walker, furious. He bores his sunken eyes into Anton, begins screaming in french.

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BARON SAMEDI (SUBTITLE) Im gonna pull your fucking bags off, get it? Gonna have my troops make you bitches in jail! He returns his attention to Chris. BARON SAMEDI If you have any leverage over your friend here you better let that shit fuckin rip. Chris lets his eyes narrow a little, burning with defiance. CHRIS How fuckin dingy are you, old man? ANTON Hes for real, Chris. BARON SAMEDI As real as this shell I swim in. I was a ruler, a hustler, slick as snot on a doorknob. But Im stuck here, in this cripple ass body. Cursed by my ex, and hell, the hells Ive seen, have no fury. He wrings his gnarled hands over his walker. BARON SAMEDI And all I need, to make this indiscretion forever gone is a woman! A woman from the right tribe, to validate my divorce in the eyes of my house! To raise from this prison, this limbo, and rule the world! ANTON Lukumi. First Voudun priest in the New World. CHRIS This guy? BARON SAMEDI No, not me, you chink faggot. Hes the Loa from the other house, the house I must appease to regain my flesh, my bones. The girl with honey rich blood, royalty, I must marry her!

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ANTON Fuck all that! BARON SAMEDI And then Lukumi will be satisfied and the spell will be broken! Baron Samedi drags his cigar, sips from the rocks glass on his walker. CHRIS And then youll... Rise from the limbo to take over the world! BARON SAMEDI Fo sho! CHRIS Or you could untie me and spend the last few seconds of your shit life in utter fucking agony. Baron Samedi turns on his walker, clanking off down the hall. ANTON Chris, dammit! CHRIS Oh, come on, three hundred years and he cant fuckin turn up one trick? This is bullshit. As he passes, he notices a security monitor of the front desk. On it, Amy, Brad, and Karen talk at the front desk. BARON SAMEDI Now god dammit, who the fuck is this? Your little fuckin buddies? You fuckin little pussies... He continues clanking towards the door. CHRIS No, man, hang out, come chill... ANTON Wheres Angie? Where is she? BARON SAMEDI Dont sweat it, faggot. You dont need to worry about ruining her life... Or afterlife...

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INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS The Trash Zumbie smears base on his face, covering the sagging, dying skin in ridiculous layers of flesh colored makeup. He smiles into the mirror, a sickening visage of dripping greasepaint. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - FRONT DESK - CONTINUOUS Brad, Karen and Amy give their best fast talk to an unimpressed SECURITY OFFICER. AMY You know what agency I represent? KAREN What youre doing right now constitutes obstruction of justice. BRAD Come on, man, give these chicks a look around so I can get back to my depositions. SECURITY OFFICER Look, I dont set the rules. No tours, no exceptions. An elevator dings, and the Trash Zumbie steps out, looking like a moist, shiny, almost regular human being. TRASH ZUMBIE Oui, oui! He speaks in french to the three of them. TRASH ZUMBIE (SUBTITLE) Id love to escort you down. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - HOLDING CELL - LATER The door opens, shedding a sliver of light into the dim cell. Chris and Anton are wheeled in on the gurneys. The Wind and Plant Zumbies leave and lock the door.

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Chris begins shaking his, until it falls over. He is bound tight, wriggling, working the straps. He shakes the bag up over his face, exposing his eyes. CHRIS You got a lighter? ANTON Probably still soaked. CHRIS Just fuckin look man. As it is well have plenty of time to dry in out. He shakes a lighter loose and drops it into the gurney. He bounces it out and after some more struggling Chris manages to grab it. He begins to burn the nylon restraints. ANTON Whats that smell? CHRIS Freedom. Finally one gives, allowing him to take the bag all the way off his head and get his other hand free. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - BASEMENT - NIGHT The Trash Zumbie, Greasepaint dripping onto his suit, leads Brad, Amy, and Karen into an Elevator. He speaks in french, Brad translating. BRAD He says that ever since the seventeen hundreds, Louisiana has been a center of trade for contraband. AMY Did he just actually... Say contraband? KAREN How far... How far down can we go from sea level? Into the swamp... Amy falls first, followed by Karen and then Brad.

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As the elevator fills with gas, the hissing crescendos. The Trash Zumbie opens the door and several THUGS in gas masks move toward the unconscious bodies. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - HOLDING CELL - CONTINUOUS Chris burns away the straps holding Antons arm. A stray glob of melting nylon sears his skin. CHRIS Shit, sorry, man. ANTON Its cool, its cool. Thanks, man. He gets up, looks around the tiny cell. He digs a cell phone from his pocket. ANTON You dont have signal, do you? Chris checks his pockets, then throws his hands up. CHRIS My shits in my car. ANTON Who the fuck leaves their phone in the car? Chris raises a middle finger and they both start examining the room. ANTON I think weve come up. From the caverns and shit. CHRIS From the place they were torturing us? ANTON Yeah, for sure. CHRIS They didnt even ask me shit. ANTON Try not to be a pill right now, blood.

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CHRIS Oh, yeah, lets fuckin break dance right into the club. ANTON Look man, Samedi has somethin planned for us. Otherwise hed have just wacked us. Chris knocks around on the tiny cell walls. CHRIS Samedi? Which Samedi? That crippled octogenarian or the disappearing tuxedo? ANTON They, theyre the same shit, dude. CHRIS You better spill some beans up in here, jackson. ANTON I dont wanna offend you, dog. Chris pops up on one of the gurneys, folds his hands in a mocking posture of patient listening. CHRIS I got nothin better to do right now than get fuckin offended. So hit me. Anton leans against his gurney, searching for words. ANTON Its about all sorts of evil shit, man. Imported voodoo gods, hidden just behind the veil of saints. Gods and their marriages, divorces, deaths. They didnt, they didnt go anywhere when they got to the new world. Just changed forms. CHRIS What was that shit about a wife? ANTON He married Maman Brigitte, the only white loa.

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He couldnt keep it down, of course, and she imposed that curse of no flesh on him sometime when Haiti was new. But Lukumi saw it going down and knew his lust. Anton licks his lips, looks at his feet. ANTON A lot of creole learn about this shit as kids. Then we come up, yknow? Were too cool for ghost stories. The sound of footsteps approaches, steadily echoing closer. CHRIS Fuck it, man, you aint done explaining. Chris snaps the legs on the gurney closed and lights the sheets on fire. The door open and Chris charges with it, smashing into the Growth Zumbie, charring him, forcing him to recoil and drop Brad from over his shoulder. Anton flies out over the now burning Growth Zumbie and crumples the GUARD behind him. A few kicks while hes on the ground keep him quiet as Chris forces the Growth Zumbie into the cell, slamming the door behind him. Two more GUARDS come running towards the ruckus, To be quickly beaten down between Anton and Chris, pummeling and ping-ponging them between them. As they roll pockets they come up with guns; a forty-five, a sawed-off shotgun, and a mac-10. Anton crouches over Brad as he comes back to consciousness. ANTON What the fuck are you doin here, man? BRAD We got tired of waiting. Kim and Amy are inside too, somewhere. And Castille and Sixto? Theyre right across the street in The Throbs stretch Hummer limo.

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CHRIS Were in here fighting for our lives and theyre living it up in a limo? Fuckin unbelievable. You remember the way? These guys are gonna wake up in a second. BRAD Yeah, man, sorta. I think its this way. The boys scamper off down the hallway. As their footsteps fade, the organic matter clumps together from rust, then the cell door breaks open, the Growth Zumbie enraged within. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE - LATER Baron Samedi, his face looking like a skull with black skin stretched over it, talks into an ancient phone. BARON SAMEDI What the hell do you mean slipped by you? You motherfuckers better have more than an excuse when I call back. I want you to hang these faggots heads on the outside of the building as an example to show how many cops I fuckin own. He slams down the phone. Baron Samedi begins to stretch in his own skin, tiny black storms of change settling over him. His fading is reflected in the black marble gargoyles adorning the room. The image flexes over a statue of an overgrown fetus, a gold umbilical cord leading to a bowl at its feet. The chaos erupts and the black storm envelopes the room. When it clears, it is Baron Samedi from the street; huge, black, powerful, tuxedo perfect Armani, top hat popped. He floats through the room, insubstantially passing through walls. He moves through, into a room further back, where the incense hangs thick in the air, and Angie slowly rotates, clear of the ground, deep in a black magick trance. BARON SAMEDI Beautiful girl. Look at you. So fresh faced, so nice...

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He reaches to touch her, and his hands disappear in black magnetic storms, reforming on the other side. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - HALLWAY - NIGHT Anton checks a corner, beckons clear to Brad and Chris, and is immediately set upon by Samedis GUARDS. The first one smacks Antons sawed off shotgun out of his hands, and into the fist fight they go, brawling. Anton makes short work of him with a head butt and elbow combo. Another GUARD comes at Anton, and his legs are swept out from under him. Anton rolls up him from the ground, takes a leg, a hip, a shoulder, then pounds his face into the ground, blood spurting from a broken grill. The last GUARD opens up with a nine millimeter, Anton diving behind shipping crates. Chris fumbles with his weapon. He disengages the safety and blasts the guard. Chris looks ashen at the body a second. BRAD Did you just break your cherry? CHRIS Fuck off. They continue to the elevator. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SLAVE PENS - MOMENTS LATER The elevator doors ding open to a bridge, cells beyond that. In one of the cells, Karen sits, fuming. Chris takes the low road, climbing hand over hand on the underside of the bridge. Anton and Brad walk on top of the bridge. The GUARDS here are women, guarding all the other women. Anton begins speaking in french. ANTON (SUBTITLE) Ladies. Im here with mister Denouement looking for a specific girl. He finds the picture on the cell phone, waves it at them.

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Above Karens cage, Chris delicately steps on the wire mesh. The guard is unimpressed with Antons performance. GUARD Mister Denouement always bring a gun? Hit the deck, you asshat. Chaos erupts on the tiny bridge and it sways with conflict. Brad reaches, only to be tased by the guard, his weapon clattering on the wooden planks. Anton dives on her swatting. They spin combat, one guard lies unconscious on the bridge, the other tumbling into the water below. ANTON Shit hurts, huh? BRAD Holy fuck, papa... ANTON Get it together homes... More female guards approach, tasers and sticks in hand. ANTON Cause we aint done. Chris whispers into the cage. CHRIS Karen! KAREN Chris? CHRIS Whatd they do with Amy? KAREN Shes further down there. She wouldnt stop fighting. One of the women fighting with Anton and Brad has a black eye, which Brad zeroes in on with a pile driver. BRAD I hate hittin chicks, man. Anton and Brad are back to back, circled by three more women guards on their side of the bridge.

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ANTON Theyll use that, dog. Theyre just more fuckin gangsters right now. Chris jumps down into the corridor between pens and shoots out the control mechanism. The other women immediately begin their escape. Chris winds his way back, against the grain of running women. Amy is hog-tied in her cell, still struggling as Chris unties her. CHRIS Come on! One of the guards misses Anton with a taser, hitting another guard. Anton and Brad capitalize on this, jumping them both and putting them down. Chris, Anton, Karen, Brad, and Amy mix in with the fleeing harem pen. They guide the women through the doors, as the Trash Zumbie busts in the other door, still dripping weird makeup, followed by a dozen SECURITY GUARDS. They open fire as Anton slams a heavy metal door, bullets ricochet back. Chris and Anton bolt the door and continue their run into a dim tunnel. They shuffle through the tunnel and it begins to crumble around them, shaking apart. Massive chunks of stone begin to fall as they run. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - BASEMENT - CONTINUOUS Amy stops at the entrance to the basement. The flow of women coming through slows to a trickle, then stops. Anton emerges from the dust and the trembling first. AMY Wheres Karen? ANTON I dont know! Karen emerges, coughing. AMY What happened to Brad? KAREN Back there! I think...

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Brad stumbles through, lost of breath. AMY Wheres Chris? Chris? Brad wordlessly falls into the basement, shaking his head. The women keep moving through the cellars, among rum and tobacco crates, unmarked pallets of contraband. AMY Chris? Finally, covered in dirt, Chris flops into the basement, grabbing Amy, kissing her full on the mouth. AMY Hey... CHRIS Hey... Sorry... Not really. She tries hard to hide her smile. AMY Lets move, already. Regrouping with everyone else, they look around the basement. Anton points to a hatch in the ceiling. ANTON Betcha right up theres where we first hit them stairs. They pop the hatch and climb up, entering a level of basement inventory stocked with produce, canned goods and other legal trade goods. Chris, in the lead, rushes to the next door, a sliding garage door style. Chris stops. CHRIS Alright, we gotta be gettin close here. Its pretty much typical mob front from here on out, desk clerks. Anton begins translating into french. CHRIS Just follow my lead and well be home free.

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Chris opens the door to see a dozen THUGS, all in Disciple colors, armed with chains and sticks. Chris slams the door back shut. CHRIS We might die here. ANTON What the fuck? CHRIS Okay, okay, just, get out of sight. Anton translates, then turns incredulous to Chris, as a crowbar splits the door. ANTON Really? CHRIS Im the only one they saw, man, scamper. The rest of them do just that, but Anton stands with Chris. CHRIS Thanks, homie. The door is broken in, and Chris opens up with the mac-10. He cuts the number of thugs in half, then the gun makes that disappointing click signalling empty. Anton flies into them as they approach, spinning the dance of war deftly around their weapons. Chris looks to his side and grabs a switch of rebar, spinning it like a staff. He loses his grip and it flings off into the darkness of the basement. Anton is smashing the thugs, one by one. He grabs a bat from one as he flips over, blocking a swung chain and redirecting its energy, gracefully felling them like some lumberjack in a gangster forest. Chris recovers his switch of rebar, charging back into the fray. One of the thugs comes down with a chain, smashing concrete where Antons face was a split second ago. Anton side rolls and leaps up, a knee in the thugs chest and a balled fist collapsing his face.

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Chris charges up, rebar in hand, to see Anton kick down the last of the enemies. ANTON I think this just got wrapped up. EXT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - NIGHT Castille talks with Sixto, who sits in the driver seat of the stretch hummer. They look nervously at the front door. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - FRONT DESK - MOMENTS LATER Chris leads the way into the lobby. CHRIS Oh, internet now run, five hundred percent! You boys need call us again! Next time you just-Chris points the empty mac-10 at the desk clerks, drops the fake accent. CHRIS Get your faces on the fucking ground, right now! Face, ground, asshole! The desk guards duck behind the counter while the captive women pour out, running. EXT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - NIGHT Anton leads the charge out of the building, seeing Castille and Sixto, he guides the girls towards the stretch hummer. ANTON Nice low profile vehicle, uncle. SIXTO Its the only bulletproof one. They begin loading the women into the hummer. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - FRONT DESK - CONTINUOUS Amy, in the rear, pauses to watch a plant moving a weird rhythm. It comes alive and snatches her up, becoming the Growth Zumbie behind her, muffling her scream.

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EXT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - CONTINUOUS The last of the women climb into the hummer just in time for the SECURITY GUARDS to bust out the door, lighting up the street with automatic weapon fire. Sixto floors it, tearing off into the night, way too fast for a limo to safely navigate the New Orleans streets. Bullets bounce, gouge the side of the hummer. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - FRONT DESK - CONTINUOUS Amy struggles, clawing at the strange ropes that hold her. She spins to see her attacker, all death and spine wrapped in life gone wild. She screams, then passes out from shock. INT. STRETCH HUMMER - MOMENTS LATER Chris looks around at the women, the road flying by. CHRIS We did it! He stands, jubilant, bumping his head on the ceiling. CHRIS Holy fuck were alive!! Castille looks annoyed at Chris, then gravely at Anton. CASTILLE Where is Angie? ANTON In there. I mean, right? INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - BASEMENT - NIGHT Over Growth Zumbies shoulder, Amy is still struggling. He deposits her in the center of the room and chains her. Flanked by the Wind and Trash Zumbies, Baron Samedi hobbles in on his walker. He looks at her and begins to smile. BARON SAMEDI You have... You have Genghis Kahns blood in you!

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AMY Oh, fuck you! Wind and Trash each grab an arm of her. They lift her to him, hold her still, and present her thumb to Baron Samedi. BARON SAMEDI Oh, dont judge me, bitch. Just gimme a little blood... Smells good. Mmm. He pricks her finger just a little, she yelps. He licks the blood, chases it with the rum from the cup holder. Yes, the cup holder on his walker. Baron Samedis eyes roll up in his head, his skull protrudes, visible under his beaten top hat. BARON SAMEDI Oh thats real good. He looks down at her. BARON SAMEDI From the umbrella down into my line of sight and mind, curl down the spine. I should have thought of this centuries ago! Shit! AMY I dont know what the fuck youre planning, but the people I know are fuckin people. BARON SAMEDI I know! And the people I know arent even fucking people! AMY Where the hell is Baron Samedi then? Show me his face! Baron Samedi only laughs. AMY He knows about the district attorney, he knows about the case weve been building, and he wont even look me in the face before he kills me? Fuckin pussy! He hobbles out of the room, laughing. He swats Trash Zumbie on the arm, playful.

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BARON SAMEDI Hey what did the left saggy titty say to the right saggy titty? Heh, she goes, If we dont get some support soon, motherfuckers gonna think were nuts! INT. THE THROB NIGHTCLUB - UPSTAIRS - NIGHT Castille hands out red beans and rice to the refugee women. Anton and Chris load their weapons, while Karen watches on with Brad. KAREN You take any pictures while you were down there? Brad digs out his cellphone. BRAD I didnt even think to try. I was surprised when Anton even tried his. Why? KAREN Just, any kind of evidence helps build up a case. BRAD You dont think theyd throw out your testimony? Sixto enters with a half dozen or so THUGS in all black. The women immediately begin to scream. SIXTO Chill out! Chill out!! This is my fuckin street team, here. They settle, suspicious. CHRIS Did they bring any fuckin guns? SIXTO Well, not gonna get you real far with Baron Samedi, but here... Sixto pulls a massive chrome desert eagle from his coat.

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SIXTO Here, might compensate for your size issues or some shit. CHRIS What do you mean, wont get me real far? SIXTO You mean nothing struck you as odd about caves here? When were under sea level? CHRIS Well, they pump it out for... SIXTO Youve been in folded space, son. The twisted designs of powers beyond your reckoning. But its not sunrise. Hell... Sixto points to a clock on the wall that reads eleven eleven. SIXTO The nights just young. Weve got a lot of asses to kick before dawn. CHRIS We? You gonna follow us then? SIXTO Ya think now? Ya wouldnt a made it out there last time if it wasnt for me and my god damn, Mariah Carey gunboat, now, huh? Sixto looks at Chris, then Anton. SIXTO Follow my ass. You really think we gonna be able to do the Tequila breakfast without me? Chris smiles. KAREN Im in too. CHRIS Right.

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KAREN For real, dammit. Ive worked my ass off with that girl-CHRIS And whose gonna be there to do it if we dont come back? We need you here Karen. Besides, I want you to hang out here with Brad. KAREN Yeah, like you wanna hang out with Amy. CHRIS Listen, you havent even seen my ride. Its bad. Karen rolls her eyes at this. CHRIS Serious, though. KAREN Yeah, you wouldnt even be interested in a girl like that right? Little educated. Little too much chick for you. SIXTO Do we really have time for this shit? ANTON Hes right. Karen, Brad, we need you here with Castille to help get these girls down to Saint Annes. Well be back by dawn. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - UNDERGROUND - NIGHT The Wind and Growth Zumbies bring Amy into the strange and dim lit room. The walls breath and there, in the middle, suspended in the strange dark magic of Baron Samedi, slowly spins Angie. They set down Amy and leave the room. Her eye flutters the tiniest bit. She stirs. She shakes her head, then touches her face. She looks up to see Angie, tiny storms of contained negative plane holding her in a deep trance.

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AMY Can you hear me? Are you alive? Behind her, Baron Samedi Approaches, not the ancient cripple, but the powerful apparition from the street, the one that turned into a cloud of ink in front of the Impala. AMY You are Angie, right? BARON SAMEDI Thats her. Flesh and blood. AMY What are you supposed to be? She takes him in, his huge black presence filling her mind and leaving her with a look of awe. BARON SAMEDI Its me baby. Rex. The Baron Samedi, Baron Saturday, etc. Youve found me, to bring me your royal blood. AMY Yeah... Wait, what, no. I-ANGIE You have. Amy looks behind, startled to hear Angie speak. AMY What is she, under some kind of-BARON SAMEDI Trance? The deepest of them. AMY Voudun. BARON SAMEDI Hoodoo. Horse and a rider. I swim there, in space between, engulfed in the tremor between waking and sleeping and death, in this, fucking indignant and wretched unlife, until I find her... Amy looks back at Angie, then back, stoned, stunned, in complete thrall.

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BARON SAMEDI The woman of royal blood, to satisfy my royal obligations. A queen to wed me, the king. AMY To wed... Queen? She lulls over to him, and he bends in to kiss her. As he does, his lip gives way into dark molecular storms, lilting into the air. She inhales him in black fumes, breathing deeply. EXT. THE THROB NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT Chris, Sixto, Anton, and the Street Team hit the pavement out front. They move through the New Orleans streets on foot. Sixto leads the procession smoking a hand rolled cigar, similar to Castilles. Chris sniffs. SIXTO Whats wrong with your sniffer? CHRIS What you workin on there? SIXTO Herbal supplement. All natural. ANTON Shit old man, you gonna pass that or you gonna pitch a tent on the motherfucker? Sixto hits it, hands it to Anton, then on to Chris. SIXTO The Rastas believe in this shit, in the cypher right here. CHRIS Cypher? SIXTO That when you smoke this shit it brings you closer to the mind of god. Come on, in here.

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INT. SIXTOS WAREHOUSE - CONTINUOUS The warehouse is littered with flasks, experiments in motion, caged chickens and a monkey. Sixto enters first, setting a tarot Deck on a table. Chris, Anton, and the crew of thugs follow. CHRIS Your uncle own this place? ANTON For sure, man. The club too. CHRIS What is all this? Sixto is sitting down, flipping the cards. They come up Tower four times in a row. He shuffles. ANTON This stuff is literally priceless, yo. CHRIS As in, two K in delivery priceless? SIXTO Your delivery is here, Chris. In the corner, the tire that Chris brought is opened, pale grey dust spilling out of it. CHRIS What is that shit? Sixto flips more cards, the Nine of Swords turns over six, seven, eight times. Sixto shuffles. ANTON How was Flagstaff, anyway? CHRIS No, dude, Ive gone along with this with no questions this whole time. What the fuck is that? SIXTO The man you picked it up from was a holy man, Chris. Hopi tribe.

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They all sit uncomfortable. Some of the thugs perk up at the Silence. ANTON You sure you really wanna know? Chris nods. ANTON Its the ground palms of holy men. SIXTO You know how little dust you can grind from the palm skin of one man? Thats a fucking ton of it right there. The dust of some of these medicine men and women are literally centuries old. And just so you dont think we dont do drugs up in this bitch, we are absolutely gonna smoke some of that shit. But... But not yet. As he is diatribing, he flips more cards, each one coming up the Mage. Hes pushing twenty cards when he looks down, stops, shuffles again. SIXTO Ima go get my shit in one pile. Sixto leaves into a separate office. CHRIS Wow. ANTON Right? Chris picks up the deck of tarot cards, looking through it. It is a completely normal tarot deck, one of each card. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE - NIGHT The Growth Zumbie fairly slithers up the fine carpet. It holds a chicken in a wicker cage. The floor has been marked out, a circle in soot. Baron Samedi oversees the process as the Growth Zumbie presents the caged chicken to the Wind Zumbie. His fingers like undead condensed wind, he unsnaps the lock, gathers the fluttering bird.

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Amy and Angie are there in elaborate wedding gowns, their eyes black as coal and unblinking. The Trash Zumbie yanks the head from the bird in a jagged snap of bone. Baron Samedi smiles as the bird runs crazy on the floor. The chicken bounces off an invisible wall that seems to rise from the outline of soot on the floor. SPIRITS congeal from thin air. They crowd in, watching the bird run strange patterns, yanked by unseen hands that fade in and out of reality. Blood spattered everywhere, the chicken finally collapses over a Veve of Baron Samedi himself. Spirits continue to populate the room, ethereal, shimmering snake and lion, horse, jaguar, and bear. They pulse in and out of reality, field mouse and eagle and ram. The otherworldly host shines, reflecting in the inky black of Angie and Amys eyes. INT. SIXTOS WAREHOUSE - NIGHT Sixto returns from the back office with a duffel bag and a change of clothes. He smiles at Chris and Anton. SIXTO You boys ready to go? ANTON Lets do the damn thing. Sixto hollers at a few of his crew in French. They head over to a garage door and roll it up, revealing a rickety freight elevator. CHRIS Wheres this thing go? SIXTO Below. CHRIS Below where? What did you say earlier? A fold in time? Sea level and shit?

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SIXTO Where is the dimension were in? Wheres time, Chris? The Baron Samedi is this way. ANTON Come on, homie, dont bug out. CHRIS Im cool. They pile into the elevator and it shudders down, light passing weird up their faces, crammed into the little lift. CHRIS Im totally cool. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE - NIGHT The Zumbie Three each sit on massive drums, angry faces carved into their shells. Black marble gargoyles leer. The Trash Zumbie strikes the first beat of the rhythm, and the assembled congregation begins to sway to the beat. Baron Samedi gestures and Amy and Angie float towards the center of the soot streaked floor. He lifts them, holds them with unseen power, guiding their movements from a distance. INT. NEW ORLEANS - UNDERGROUND - NIGHT The elevator door opens to a strange cavern, smoke and steam in a lurid sewerscape. Sixto leads the way, followed by the half-dozen thugs, Chris and Anton lagging slightly. CHRIS So were really like, under Lake Pontchartrain ANTON Dont think about it so hard, dog. Youll give yourself a brain bubble or some shit. Come on. They follow Sixto and the crew into the gloom.

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INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE - NIGHT Angie and Amy, suspended above the circle, spin under the control of Baron Samedi. The assembled spirits begin to move around the girls, dancing, spinning with them. The rhythm of the drums kept by the Zumbie Three escalates in tempo and volume, and the girls spin faster. Baron Samedi slows the spin, holds them still. Apparitions all, the Loa slide in and out of reality through them. The last of the loa passes through the girls, and they fall out of the air. The rhythm of the drums break, and Baron Samedi catches them with his hands from ten steps away, holding them telekinetically and gently depositing them on the fine rug. BARON SAMEDI They live. They both live. (Beat) I suppose, well, hell, the mormons do it, right? He looks at the Trash Zumbie, whose eyes glitter with intellect. BARON SAMEDI Fuck, yeah, I oughtta be a polygamist anyway. They could both be my queen, fuck yeah. INT. NEW ORLEANS - UNDERGROUND - NIGHT The company climbs through caverns that lead over hissing rivers, strange steam rising along the walls in a slow crawl. A river bubbles as they shuffle past, a murky blurble followed by tense stillness. ANTON Like plaque. SIXTO Plaque in her veins. CHRIS Like, the veins in mother earth?

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SIXTO The arteries and blood vessels, now. CHRIS Right. SIXTO Damn right. You dont have no idea what this place was like before it was discovered and I understand that, but you have to have some sympathy that it was literally a different world. The moon filled the whole sky. He waves around at the odd stone hewn walls they walk through, the caverns themselves giving a little breath. SIXTO When Europe, and around here that means Spain and France, come and Settled this area, the pox and the earthquakes werent the end of it. The very earth shuddered and... Vomited, boy. The earth herself has nightmares, and its in places like this where she stuffs them down while she wakes, and pretends she never dreamed them. Sixto leads the way, grabbing a stalactite and maneuvering over a thin bridge. They thread steadily through the caves. SIXTO When the paradigm shifts so radically, like it did here, many regular people died. The psychic shock, coupled with the flood between the worlds of the living an the dead, set free many... Things, the kinds of things that feast upon the living. They continue into an underground swamp, overgrown, green and black. Swaths of smoke and haze hang in the air. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - BASEMENT - NIGHT Amy and Angie are seated in wicker chairs, eyes closed.

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One of Amys eyes pops open. She reaches over and shakes Angie. AMY Angie! Shit, wheres my purse? Amy stands up, looks around the room. She sees no trace of anything familiar. She hears a sound approaching and resumes her spot in her chair. The Wind Zumbie gusts into the room, looks them over. Satisfied, he pulls the wind into the center, mashing dust devils together. He condenses the air into a singularity, then disperses it through the room; the wind ripples over the girls, then moves into them. Their eyes flash open, black as coal. INT. NEW ORLEANS - UNDERGROUND - NIGHT Sixto kicks a door down and winces. CHRIS You alright? SIXTO Dammit, yeah, its fine... ANTON Gotta be careful here, uncle. SIXTO Oh, that aint shit. Gimme that rock. One of the thugs hands Anton a rock, who hands it to Sixto. He tumbles it down the stairs. When it hits the sixth step, the stairs go slanted, becoming a slick ramp. SIXTO Remember those? The nine of them rappel into a huge open cavern, similar to the one Chris and Anton fell into before. Halfway down, they swing on the rope over to an opening in the side, emerging near the slave pens.

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INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SLAVE PENS - CONTINUOUS One of the thugs from Sixtos street team looks at the busted locks, open pens. He looks back toward the rest of the crew THUG Where is everybody? SIXTO Getting ready for the Barons wedding. CHRIS Wedding? Are you serious? SIXTO Look, it gets pretty far out this far in. I need you to, to kind of stay with me, okay? ANTON Were in, now. Baron Samedis realm. Chris nods at the thug. SIXTO When the first few ships showed up in this part of the world, the Baron was bound to slaves that werent here yet. But time doesnt flow like that for him anyway. The first Voudun priest, Lukumi, imposed upon him that awful curse of insubstantial form. CHRIS Okay, move it along a little, Six. SIXTO Well, in order to satisfy that order, he has to marry a woman of royal blood. Anton flinches at this. SIXTO But the stipulations of his divorce are brutal factors. You ever wonder if the pre-nup was invented by a man or a woman?

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Im pretty sure his wife, Maman Brigitte, invented that shit, right there. Her price? Anton grimaces, souring his face. SIXTO The next chicks life. ANTON Hell no. CHRIS Well lets kick this bitch into gear then, dammit! Whatever details you need to feed me, lets do it on the move. SIXTO I like the spirit, kid. But listen to me just a second. Were about to smash up the old skull and top hat. But when we hit the threshold, the recipe that you helped out with is the only thing thats gonna take us out the other side. CHRIS The... Palm dust? SIXTO Yuh. You have to match wave lengths with the rhythm, to synch up and dance. You have to fight fire with god damn, nukes and shit. Ive been looking forward to this since before you boys were born. Outside, noise escalates, the approach of a crowd. One of Sixtos thugs jumps up, rushes to the door. He puts a finger to his lip and looks through a crack. Several DISCIPLES pass the door, gang colors flying, drinking forties and putting guns up, howling. After they pass, Chris, Sixto and Anton step out into the hall. Two MARDI GRAS CLOWNS round the corner, and they dive back into the shadows. The clowns dance and bob on down the hall.

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CHRIS Clowns? SIXTO For the wedding. CHRIS Clowns, at a wedding? ANTON You never been to a Creole wedding, have you? Chris shakes his head and they proceed down the hall. INT. WEDDING CHAPEL - CONTINUOUS The chapel is decorated for nuptials and revelry, streamers and banners hanging. Its a Cajun gangster wedding, packed with CAJUN GANGSTERS, all wearing Disciple colors. The Wind Zumbie enters with Angie and Amy in tow. They float wind currents gently, daintily towards the wedding alter. The pulpit is shiny black, onyx or polished marble. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER A DEMONIC SPIDER MONKEY sneaks up behind Chris, Anton, Sixto and the crew. In place of a head proper, one giant milky eye sits blinking where a face should be. Chris notices it first. CHRIS What the hell is that? SIXTO Its a familiar, of a sort. It exists to serve Baron Samedi, as an eye where he cant be. CHRIS So he can see us right now. ANTON Think he can hear us? Anton lifts his middle finger at the strange, jittery little thing.

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INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE - CONTINUOUS Baron Samedis eyes are closed, flickering in rapid eye movement. Several Disciples assist him in getting dressed in his wedding vestments. BARON SAMEDI You fuckers came back? With reinforcements? Morons. He looks to the Growth and Trash Zumbies, who watch him in his partial trance. BARON SAMEDI That stupid little wizard led them here through the underground. Led them to their deaths. Baron Samedi trembles a little, focusing his energy. BARON SAMEDI Sixto. Sixto! INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS The boys look at the demonic spider monkey as Baron Samedi possesses it. BARON SAMEDI (O.S.) Sixto! Youre a long way from home, you fucking buzzard. Who have you brought with you to die for me? Lovely wedding gifts, man. Antons middle finger drops. BARON SAMEDI (O.S.) Thats right, motherfucker, my wedding. There are two women with royal blood. Ima wack Amy, then make the scene with Angie as my Mardi Gras queen! ANTON Fuck you! BARON SAMEDI (O.S.) Fuck me, right, you little bastard, Ive defeated a five hundred year old curse, you dumb dick! What have you got done tonight?

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Chris, pissed off, finally just opens up with his mac-10. The spider monkey dances around the bullets as it scampers off. CHRIS Hell, it was worth a shot. Lets roll. Baron Samedis laughter peals down the hallways, echoing through the world underneath New Orleans. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE - LATER Anton steps through first, signalling the all clear to the others. They file in cautious, stepping lightly inside. CHRIS Somethings wrong. ANTON We shouldnt be this far in. Not without more of a scrap. SIXTO Therell be scrappin, you just hold your horses now yhear? The whole staff will be getting ready for the marriage. ANTON And where is that, huh? Just wheren the fuck is this shit goin down? The lot of them begin to scour the room, looking for clues. CHRIS It doesnt make any sense. Security should be shit tight, not all, fuckin absentee. I mean, fuck, where is he? Where the fuck is Baron Samedi? INT. WEDDING CHAPEL - LATER Baron Samedi makes the grand entrance at his wedding, where the room full of thugs cheer his entry. The place is alive, electric with the ceremony. Baron Samedi puts his hands up, but people keep screaming and cheering, thrilled, enthralled, possessed, all of the above.

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INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE Anton knocks around on the walls, finally coming up with something. ANTON Chris. Chris! Hey, what do you think this is? You hear that? Chris comes over, checking out the weird soft spot. The wall is soft, giving to the touch. CHRIS Spongy. ANTON Lets tear it the fuck down then. They tear down by hand a fake wall, which opens to a small elevator door. CHRIS Im sayin, yo. ANTON No, this is good, theres only one place that could lead. SIXTO Come here, you fucking dope fiends. The boys move over to where Sixto is breaking up massive green buds behind the bar. He pulls a bottle from under the bar and gestures to the glasses. SIXTO Lets get a snort. Anton smiles, pouring glasses for the assembled crew. Sixto sprinkles the grey dust on the pile, breaks a philly. Chris looks on warily. CHRIS You spikin the blunt? Sixto raises an eyebrow, lines the inside of the broken philly with deep red viscous liquid. CHRIS Seriously, what is that?

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SIXTO Blood of a half dead god. CHRIS What? ANTON Relax, homes. SIXTO No, fuck that relax shit. Im tryin to get you all methed out to scrap with the most evil thing on the planet since there was a new world. Anton smiles, looks at Chris. ANTON Boo, motherfucker. Anton has poured all the way around, a stiff drink for everybody. SIXTO Shit, son, its like youve poured a fuckin drink before. ANTON Gettin to look that way. You need a hand twistin that shit? SIXTO Fuck you. ANTON Just askin. Sixto warms the blunt over a lighter. SIXTO Rastafarians believe this shit brings you closer to the mind of god. Funny thing is... Sixto lights the bitch, thick plumes of oily grey smoke slither up into the room. SIXTO They dont mention which god.

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The blunt passes around the circle. The crew carries drinks toward the elevator, passing the smoke clockwise in front of it. Sixto presses a button and the elevator dings. INT. WEDDING CHAPEL - CONTINUOUS The elevator opens silently behind the assembly. Baron Samedi shakes a weird jig at the alter, Amy and Angie resplendent in their gowns. Chris immediately levels his mac-10. SIXTO Huh-uh. Huh-uh. Didnt anybody ever tell you about guns? Get your finger off the trigger numb nuts. Cant go yet. CHRIS I was, shit, no finger on the trigger unless your gonna shoot, whyn the fuck dont you wanna let me-SIXTO Hes still a fucking demon. Hes stupid enough to want to be a man. I know how to kill a man. You know how to kill a fucking demon? Chris relaxes, steps back a little. CHRIS What the fuck was that hoodoo joint for then? Anton smacks Chris on the shoulder. ANTON Call it a fucking insurance policy. Now shut the fuck up before they hear us. Baron Samedi stops his dance sudden, wack, shuddery. The spirits from the earlier ritual reassemble, their otherworldly host flitting about the room. BARON SAMEDI Hear me now, fucker! Ive a loa for a lawyer!

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Motherfucking, ghost gavel, apparition attorney, A-list undead bailiff! You better be paying god damn attention! In a graceful afterthought Baron Samedi swats at the black podium. His arm disappears into puffed black ink, then congeals again on the other side. BARON SAMEDI I wanna divorce! By the right of the deal I want recognition of this royal blood! The assembly of spirits nods, the assembly of thugs entranced. A forty smashes on the ground, dropped from numb fingers. Baron Samedi lifts his hands, and the girls move under his demonic power. He steps with the effort, stumbling into the podium, knocking it over. CHRIS Hey, Six, is that it? SIXTO Yeah. ANTON Then its on? SIXTO Yeah. Just then, the spider monkey eyeball sees them, transmits it to Baron Samedi. His dance fumbles as Anton punts the little bastard across the wedding chapel. ANTON Thats my chick! CHRIS Thats my chick!

And its on when everybody sees everybody. The thirty plus Disciples, Baron Samedi, Chris, Anton, Sixto, and the halfdozen thugs that Sixto called his street team all lay on, screaming. Sixto pulls 2 fragmentation grenades duct taped together, yanks pins and lets fly. The thugs all pull pipes, chains, and sticks. Chris squeezes his trigger till it goes click, pointing at the podium, doing nothing but exciting the scene.

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The Mardi Gras Clowns immediately descend upon Chris, and he winds up throwing the empty gun at them. Amys eyes flutter back to normal. She observes the chaos. AMY Oh, I dont fucking think so. She grabs one of the Disciples and kicks him, steals his weapon, and smashes another, crumbling him. Sixtos grenades go off, sending Disciples flying. Anton engages a thug unarmed and leaves him broken, stealing his chain, spinning it over his head. The Trash Zumbie notices Anton lay down a few of the Disciples, yanking a pipe length from one, smashing another ones stick on the way to his face. Chris spins, swat kicking, the Mardi Gras Clowns fight him fast and tiny. He manages a brutal shirt grab piledriver on one of them, kicking him as he maintains eye contact with the other. The Trash Zumbie circles Anton, calling him out. ANTON What up? Eye contact and a Capoeira handstand, Anton comes down smashing another of his enemies. ANTON What up, you want some? Anton throws the chains he holds, and the Trash Zumbie flashes in, spinning Antons face with a round kick. They spin the dance of war, Roda circling widdershins. Anton smashes Disciples on his way around. The spirits begin to dissipate, slipping between the very air. Sixto pulls a rocket propelled grenade launcher and a large shell from his duffel bag. Chris flinches as the remaining Mardi Gras Clown climbs up him, swatting his face and ears with punches, tips him over. Anton and the Trash Zumbie scrap, spinning, pushing, parry and block, around the wedding chapel.

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Chris wraps the Clown in a leg lock, flipping him over and turning the tables on the grease painted fury. Anton flip kicks the Trash Zumbie towards Sixto, chasing him on the fly. Sixto loads a rocket into the RPG. The Trash Zumbie deftly rolls out of range of a savage axe kick from Anton. Chris lashes a knee downward into the strange clown. Sixto lets fly the RPG, and Baron Samedi smiles. He unzips reality and lets the rocket fly out of this existence and into limbo, zipping the seam and closing out the rocket. Anton smashes the Trash Zumbie with a series of ferocious roundhouses, and pauses to watch him regenerate the damage. ANTON Fuckin keel over already! Anton snatches a grenade from Sixtos belt. Baron Samedi drills his eyes into Sixto, boring into his consciousness. Whip pan, smash cut, some mystical haze right into... INT. THE THROB NIGHTCLUB - UPSTAIRS - NIGHT Sixto sits across from Baron Samedi, Abita beers and a half a bottle of rum clutter the table, along with an overspilling ashtray. Sixto shuffles his tarot deck. BARON SAMEDI How you gonna act like Im all selfish and shit about this, man? Were both fuckin miserable. I need out. She needs out. I know theres a lot of collateral damage and shit, but damn. Sixto slugs a beer, shrugs. BARON SAMEDI Check this out. One night me and the crew, we gonna go out and get all mashed up on good rum and shit. SIXTO Yeah?

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BARON SAMEDI And shes like, Asshole, you got so fucked up last time you barfed all over your fuggin shirt. And Im like, please baby baby, please baby baby, please baby baby for like, an hour. She finally gives right? Baron Samedi takes a pull from the rum, passes it to Sixto who does the same. BARON SAMEDI You know the deal, Baby I swear I wont get all blotto, I promise. So we hit the quarter and just get, man, tore down. Like, tore down from the floor down. SIXTO Easy to do around here. Sixto keeps shuffling cards, patient. BARON SAMEDI Youre tellin me. So Im all fuckered up, howling, and somebody pukes on my shirt. SIXTO Somebody? BARON SAMEDI Yeah, it was me. And Im like Fuck, she gonna put me to the curb for sure. But my home boys like, I got this, I got this. He puts fifty bones in my hand and goes yo, tell her it was somebody else. Hell, tell her it was me, fucked if I care. Sixto has found his mark and begins dealing a Celtic Cross spread with the cards. BARON SAMEDI So I get back to the spot right, just sloshed, and shes hot man. I mean hot. She cant decide If she wants to cross her arms or do the one hand on the hip thing. I mean mad as shit, Jack.

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Sixto is laying cards, all the Five of Wands. BARON SAMEDI She sees the barf all over me and is like, Oh, what the fuck... And Im like, No, baby, its cool, its cool, it wasnt me. It was some other loser drunk done threw up all over me. He gave me fifty bucks to clean it. Here. Sixto picks up, shuffles, lays the cards out again, all the same, the Five of Wands. BARON SAMEDI So she snatches the cash, and sees theres two fifty dollar bills there. Shes like, What the fuck is the other fifty for? Sixto pauses, looks up. BARON SAMEDI I go, Thats from the asshole that shit in my pants. Sixto rolls at the punchline, chuckling. He smiles at Baron Samedi, flipping cards. Finally, a different card comes up; The World. Sixto looks at it surprised. SIXTO If you like to gamble, I tell you Im your man. You win some, lose some, its all the same to me. BARON SAMEDI What? SIXTO The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say. I dont share your greed. The only card I need is... Sixto flips cards over the spread, no longer The World, but The Ace of Swords, covering each of the laid cards. SIXTO The ace of spades. Smash back out to...

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INT. WEDDING CHAPEL - CONTINUOUS Battle rages around Sixto as he snaps out of the trance. SIXTO And dont forget the Joker! Baron Samedi roars as his spell breaks loose. The Wind Zumbie rushes toward Sixto. Baron Samedi grabs Angie, who fights him tooth and nail as he forces her towards the elevator. The Growth Zumbie follows Baron Samedi to the elevator, escorting his master and his masters struggling bride. Sixto stares at him, spits into his palm, rubs his hands together. The Wind Zumbie swings on him, and Sixto exhales at him, pushing him down fifty feet away with just his breath. Chris has the other Mardi Gras Clown by the arm, forcing the Clowns face into the stone floor. He ends the scrap with a satisfying crunch, his foot stomping the Clowns head. As Baron Samedi reaches the elevator, he closes the door, escaping with Angie and the Growth Zumbie. The Wind Zumbie sees this, and shakes loose the walls near the chapel elevator, crumbling them, so as to give no entreaty, no pursuit behind his master. ANTON Dammit! The Trash Zumbie tags Anton with a spin kick to the back of the dome, knocking his head forward. Anton abandons all grace, charging the Trash Zumbie like a pissed off UFC fighter. He beats him senseless, the tucks the grenade into the band of the Zumbies pants, then kicks him away. The Trash Zumbie stands, unbowed... Then erupts in a grimy fireball, spreading about the ruined wedding chapel! The wind Zumbie floats straight up, disappearing to the next floor on whipping currents.

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Sixto screams a curse in Cajun as the Wind Zumbie floats off. Amy reaches for Chris, who spins around raising a fist, then realizes who it is, relaxes. AMY Whoa! CHRIS Shit, girl. You okay? AMY Who cares? I mean, Im fine, thanks, but we gotta get that son of a bitch. Amy points to Anton as he leaps the debris, climbing up the chapel elevator shaft after Baron Samedi. CHRIS Come on, the service elevator. He takes her by the hand and they bolt to the service elevator. Sixto flings another of his grenade clusters, and the whole chapel is alive with fire. INT. SERVICE ELEVATOR - CONTINUOUS Chris presses the button, turns to Amy. AMY Wheres this thing take us? CHRIS Up to his office. AMY Didnt you bring a weapon? CHRIS I am a weapon. AMY Chris, hes a fucking demon! CHRIS Chill out. Were fighting fire with fire here. Sixto gave us the juice. We got this shit.

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He pauses, they get closer. CHRIS You look good like that. AMY I was getting hitched. I mean, He was gonna marry us both, I guess, I think, I mean... CHRIS Royal blood. AMY Yeah. CHRIS Yeah? They come together, kissing in the elevator. AMY Un-fucking-real. They make out as the elevator climbs. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - SAMEDIS OFFICE - CONTINUOUS Chris and Amy exit the elevator, creeping into Samedis Office. Broken pieces of plaster and wall litter the room. Baron Samedi holds Angie at the wrists, squeezing the struggling girl. ANGIE No! No, this isnt... You aint my man! Amy and Chris split up, Chris approaching Baron Samedi, Angie, and the Growth Zumbie. Baron Samedi, frustrated, throws her to the Growth Zumbie. BARON SAMEDI This isnt what I wanted either. I dont wanna kill you, but I have a deal to keep. CHRIS Slow your roll, man.

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BARON SAMEDI Dammit, will you please kill that motherfucker? CHRIS You dont think thats really gonna stop none of this, do you? I mean, even if you get me, which you wont, you still got the whole crew. No, sir, I think youre pretty much fucked. Anton charges in, nods at Chris. ANTON Double fucked. The Growth Zumbie tosses Angie back to Baron Samedi. Chris and Anton charge the him, battering, spinning. Anton scores a shot off the Growth Zumbies head. The Zumbie jumps at him, chasing him around the office. Chris, seeing this, sets his eyes on Baron Samedi. CHRIS Get out from behind the girl, you fucking chickenshit. Baron Samedi drops Angie, forms up to Chris. Chris leaps in, roundhouse, backhand, smacking his top hat flying across the room. CHRIS Different game when you have to obey the laws of physics, huh? Samedi throws him, then grabs him at the neck, dragging him across the room. He throws him again, this time into a black marble gargoyle. It falls with Chris, exploding chunks around the room. BARON SAMEDI Laws? Laws!? Fuck your laws! And fuck you, you insolent little shit! Time to god damn die! Chris wraps a leg up and switches the game. He pounds Baron Samedi into the floor. They bounce up and Chris rakes down his knee, putting him to the floor to the snapping of bones.

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CHRIS I thought you were a fucking god. You know what fucker? This shit is done. He bends and picks up a piece of the marble. Graceless, efficient killing is the name of Chris Juengs game. He simply climbs on him and smashes his fuckin head. The Growth Zumbie chases Anton past Chris and stops, seeing the blood drip from the marble Chris holds up. It begins to stretch its being, in fast roving vine and strange tendril, over to its fallen masters side. It then begins to squirm, pushing its mass into the framing of the building. ANTON Is it eating the fucking building? The wood under the carpet stretches. CHRIS No, its a remodel. Wheres Amy? Amy yelps as a piece of the building falls in front of her. Anton gathers Angie and Amy runs to them, Chris looking at the chunk of marble, still wet and red. AMY What are you fucking daydreaming right now? Move, dumb ass! They run breakneck from the crumbling building, and see the thin tendrils of the Growth Zumbie begin to dissipate in tiny black clouds. Not so much steaming, but evaporating from reality, warping the air. In its wake, the building trembles and falls. Angie, Anton, Amy and Chris step away from the trembling corridor. INT. NEW ORLEANS - UNDERGROUND - CONTINUOUS The Wind Zumbie is not broken in spirit. He is resolve, storming down the hall. Out of the dust haze stumble Amy, Chris, Anton and Angie. CHRIS Aw, shit. ANTON How do you ungust the wind?

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AMY Figure out how to unsuck a dick later, how do we kill it? INT. WEDDING CHAPEL - CONTINUOUS Sixto looks out over the decimated place, still. He shrugs, adjusts his duffel bag over his shoulder and heads for the service elevator. Along the way, he sees a door and goes for it, opening to stairs. He climbs As the door shuts, the space loses gravity, floating corpses and debris, then loses dimension, the very space breathing in. INT. NEW ORLEANS - UNDERGROUND - CONTINUOUS Between the Wind Zumbie and Chris, Angie, Amy, and Anton, a door bursts open. Sixto flops out. He smiles at Chris, sees the company, then sees what theyre pointing at. He first looks surprised, then smiles. SIXTO I got this, right here. Sixto pulls a rolling paper from his pack. He winks at the Wind Zumbie over it. The Wind Zumbie reaches with his fingers of storm and pulls down a chunk of roof near Sixto, who doesnt even notice. Sixto frowns, winks again, and the Zig-Zag erupts like flash paper. Sixto chases it, breathing in. As he does, he catches the gust of the Wind Zumbie. Sixto breathes in forever, an incredibly long pull. ANTON You got it? Sixto huffs, catches, huffs. SIXTO Yeah, yeah, man... I said I got this.

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He presses a grey plume of smoke his left nostril, holding the right one closed. He catches his breath, smiles. The Wind Zumbie falls, slipping from control, done. Chris, Amy, Sixto, Angie and Anton cruise down the hall, finally finding a stairwell leading up. As they hit the stairs, the room bubbles, warps, and begins to slide dimensions. INT. SATURDAY IMPORT EXPORT - BASEMENT - CONTINUOUS An alarm rings, all too real in the real world. SECURITY GUARDS grab guns, give chase. The five of them race through the cellars. They slide up a garage door into another portion, slamming the door behind. Chriss Impala gleams under the garage lights. CHRIS Theres my ride. Chris does a double take. He grabs the nearest person, who happens to be Amy. CHRIS Check it out, my ride! They run for the car, security guards in hot pursuit. They pry the bottom of the garage door. Sixto rolls a the last of his grenades under the cracked open door. It erupts, silence on the other side. CHRIS Got one for the fucking door out? SIXTO Just shoot the lock. I think we have a second now. Chris goes to the door, checks it, finds it unlocked. He throws the door open as another crowbar hits the previous one. ANTON Come on! Chris jumps into the drivers seat, the rest of them already having piled in.

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He drops the keys from under the visor into his hand. CHRIS Hell yeah. The engine roars to life, and they back up, tires screeching, into the road. EXT. NEW ORLEANS - FRENCH QUARTER - DAWN The mist floats up from the street, the foggy day broadening its golden rays. Fingers of light stretch from between buildings. SIXTO Whats the speed limit here? CHRIS The what limit? AMY Stop sign, STOP sign, STOP SIGN! Chris slams on the brake, watches traffic flow. AMY Are we out? We out? CHRIS Yeah. Yeah, were out. Anton and Angie fall on each other, a deep kiss in the back of the cherry green Impala. AMY Aw. Just gives ya the warm fuzzies. CHRIS Right. AMY You, uh, think its clear yet? CHRIS Right. They smooth down the road, Chris throwing back on the heavy metal, the fog shining off the black street.

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INT. THE THROB NIGHTCLUB - UPSTAIRS - DAY The party is in swing, drinks swigging and smoke hanging in the air. Brad chats with Karen, Anton and Angie sharing a chair. Amy smiles at Chris, talks with Castille about food. Sixto gets up, not excusing himself. Chris follows. CHRIS Hey, old man, I gotta ask, really, whats your name? SIXTO Sixto. As in sixth toe. Fluke. CHRIS You really got six toes? They smile. Sixto sticks out his hand. Chris shakes it. SIXTO You did great, kid. CHRIS So whats next for you? What now? SIXTO Well, I been thinkin about a trip. Of course, its tax time, and leaving town at tax time... The place always goes to total shit. Ill probably be right here, son. Sixto exits, leaving the story for good. Brad and Karen bullshit over cocktails and food. BRAD What do you mean, no case? KAREN Well, you think its a good idea to go chasin it around? BRAD Well, somebodys gotta be held responsible. KAREN Hmm. Maybe you can come over later and uh... Help me go through my files?

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Brad smiles, leans in, and kisses her. Chris grabs his car keys, looks at Anton, who finally pries himself off of Angies face. ANTON Got your money, dog. CHRIS No, man, keep it. ANTON Chigga, My Chigga, you earned this shit. CHRIS Naw, dog. This ones on me. Shake my fuckin hand, dog. Chris and Anton clap hands, clap backs, and bump knuckles. ANTON I aint never gonna forget this. CHRIS Me neither motherfucker. Chris turns and sees Amy, leaning in the doorway, sultry and hot as hell. The eye contact is thick. CHRIS So. You wanna go for a ride? EXT. NEW ORLEANS - DAY The Impala cuts down the road in the dissipating morning fog, Chris driving, Amys hair whipping in the wind. FADE OUT. THE END