25th hour scenariusz.pdf

THE 25 t h HOUR

David Benioff

4/30/01

INDUSTRY ENTERTAINMENT

EXT. WEST SIDE HIGHWAY — NIGHT

A black dog sleeps on the shoulder of the highway, head

between his paws, curled up next to the barricade that

separates the north and southbound lanes.

Traffic rumbles past him: yellow cabs, blue police cruisers,

white limousines with tinted glass and Jersey plates.

We hear the squeal of brakes. A black *65 Ford Mustang, mint

condition, pulls onto the shoulder, ten yards past the dog,

and backs up. The dog raises its head.

Two men step out of the car. The driver, MONTY BROGAN, mid-

twenties, is pale-skinned in the flickering light. A small

silver crucifix hangs from a silver chain around his neck;

his fingers are adorned with silver rings.

The passenger, KOSTYA NOVOTNY, a hulking man in his late

thirties, blows his nose in his handkerchief.

It's a cold night. Monty wears a camel's hair overcoat,

Kostya an old blue Soviet Navy coat.

MONTY

He's alive.

KOSTYA

(Ukrainian accent)

This dog, how do you call it?

MONTY

Pit bull. Must have lost somebody some

money.

The dog stares at them and they stare at the dog.

••: ' .•••••-• • ' ? -. : • •- •' MONTY : ". •'• •• '' ' ' ; : ; '' ' "•• - •

I was thinking of shooting him.

KOSTYA

Shooting him? Are you sick in the head?

The dog continues to stare at them impassively, his face lit

by the passing headlights. The pavement by his paws is

littered with broken glass, twisted scraps of metal, black

rubber from blown tires.

(CONTINUED)

KOSTYA

What do we do, Monty, we watch him rot?

CONTINUED:

MONTY

They just left him here to die. They

threw him out the window and kept

driving.

A ship's horn sounds from the Hudson.

KOSTYA

Come, my friend, it is cold. Come, people

wait for us.

MONTY

They're used to waiting.

Monty squats near the dog and inspects him. From this angle

it is clear that the pit bull has been badly abused. One ear

has been chewed to mince; his hide is scored with cigarette

burns; flies crawl in his bloodied fur.

MONTY (CONT'D)

I think maybe his hip—

The dog pounces, jaws snapping,; lunging for Monty's face.

Monty stumbles backwards. The dog, too badly injured to

continue the attack, remains in his crouch, growling.

Monty sits on the pavement, shaking his head.

Christ.

(beat)

He's got some bite left.

MONTY (CONT'D)

KOSTYA

I think he does not want to play with

you. Come, you want police to pull over?

You want police looking through your car?

MONTY

Look what they did to him. Used him for a

fucking ashtray.

Monty stands and dusts his palms on the seat of his pants.

MONTY (CONT'D)

Let's get him in the trunk.

What?

KOSTYA

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: (2)

MONTY

There's a vet emergency room on the East

Side. I like this guy.

KOSTYA

You like him? He tries to bite your face

off. Look at him, he is meat. You want

some dog, I buy you.nice puppy tomorrow.

Monty is not listening. He walks back to his car, opens the

trunk, pulls out a soiled green army blanket.

Kostya holds up his hands: stop.

KOSTYA (CONT'D)

Wait one minute, please. Please stop one

minute? I do not go near pit bull. Monty?

I do not go near pit bull.

Monty, carrying the army blanket, walks back toward the dog.

MONTY

This is a good dog. I can see it in his

eyes. He's a tough little bastard.

KOSTYA

Sometimes I think you are very stupid

man.

The dog has slumped back to the pavement. His breath, comes in.

shorts rasps and wheezes. But he never takes his eyes off the

two men.

MONTY

We wait much longer, he'll be dead.

KOSTYA

One minute ago you want to shoot him.

MONTY

That was a mercy thing. But he's not

ready to go yet.

KOSTYA

Yes? He told you this?

Monty slowly circles behind the dog, holding the blanket the

way a matador wields his cape.

MONTY

Distract him.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: (3)

Kostya stares at his friend in disbelief. He looks down. A

crumpled soda can lies by his feet. He kicks the can.

The dog's head pivots to follow the aluminum flash.

Monty hurls the blanket over the dog and spring forward,

wrapping his arms around the dog's midsection. The dog

growls, bites the wool, tries to break the blanket's neck.

Monty lurches toward the Mustang, struggling to retain his

bearhug while the pit bull slithers in his grasp. As they

stumble closer to the car the dog releases the blanket and

snaps at Monty's throat.

Monty hurls the dog into the trunk and slams the lid. He

returns to the driver's seat.

Kostya watches him in silence, stares at the sky for a few

seconds, finally gets back in the car. The dog thrashes in

the trunk.

INT. MUSTANG

Both men sit in silence as Monty revs the engine. Blood is

beginning to leak from a bite on the right side of Monty's

neck.

KOSTYA

What goes on in your little head?

Monty grins. He has no idea that he's bleeding.

MONTY

I got him, didn't I? Surprised you how

.— quick I was, huh?

Monty checks for traffic and pulls back onto the highway.

KOSTYA

Yes, you are so quick.

He points at the wound on Monty's neck, which has begun to

flow faster.

KOSTYA (CONT'D)

Meanwhile, you are bleeding.

MONTY

That's the dog's blood.

KOSTYA

Oh? Because you have hole in your neck

and blood is coining out.

(CONTINUED)

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