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[ bottom ] The
Lost Son If
you are interested in the story behind this screenplay, you may like
to read the following articles The
following screenplay of The Lost Son is provided for reading purposes
only. Neither the whole nor part of it |
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EXT. REDDINGTON ROAD, HAMPSTEAD. LONDON. LATE AFTERNOON.
FADE IN... THE PURR OF A CAR ENGINE, idling. WINTER TWILIGHT.
HEAVY RAIN... A leafy avenue bordered with somber mansions...
A HAND FLICKS a cigarette out the car’s window... It flies through
the rain...
HITS THE WET TARMAC WITH A SPRAY OF SPARKS.
IN AND HOLD ON XAVIER LOMBARD, at the wheel of a TRIUMPH 2000.
Late 30s, dark, short hair, stony-faced, in a conservative dark
suit and white shirt - collar button undone... Through the open
window his eyes survey...
BEYOND OPEN GATES FLANKED WITH A SECURITY CAMERA: the lit- up
facade of a white mansion fronted by a gravel drive; parked there:
A BLUE ASTON MARTIN, TWO FERRARIS AND A DAIMLER...
INT. TRIUMPH. LATE AFTERNOON.
IN ON Lombard as he glances at... The passenger seat: A SCRIBBLED
NOTE beside an OPEN PACK OF PLAIN GITANES and A SPORTS BAG:
“Spitz, 46 Reddington Road, NW6... 5pm...”
HIS WATCH (leather strap, flat with hands): 17:07...
Lombard swallows without parting his lips...
QUICK SEQUENCE... His left foot (FINE BLACK LEATHER SHOE) pushing
the clutch pedal; His left hand (GOLD WEDDING BAND) shifting the
car into gear; His right hand spinning the wheel (SILVER
CUFFLINKS); His right foot pushing the rev pedal...
EXT. DE MORAES DRIVEWAY. LATE AFTERNOON.
The Triumph wheel crunches to a stop on the gravel next to the
Aston Martin’s polished spoked wheel...
INT. TRIUMPH. LATE AFTERNOON.
Eyeing up the Aston Martin, Lombard turns his engine off, starts
winding up his window and catches sight of...
A UNIFORMED BUTLER under a huge umbrella heading his way...
EXT. DE MORAES’ DRIVEWAY. LATE AFTERNOON.
The butler - stiff, sour, middle-aged - opens the Triumph door.
BUTLER
Mister Xavier Lombard?
Lombard eyes him coldly, then, unfastening his seatbelt:
LOMBARD
That’s right.
BUTLER
Will you please come with me?
LOMBARD
That might depend on where you’re going.
BUTLER
I am Lawrence, sir. Mr and Mrs De Moraes’
majordomo. They are expecting you.
LOMBARD
(a beat; he looks him up and down)
De Moraes? I was asked here by a Mrs
Spitz.
BUTLER
That would be Mrs De Moraes mother, Sir.
Mr and Mrs Spitz are here with their
daughter.
Lombard eyes him a while longer, pockets his Gitanes and steps out
the car under the butler’s umbrella... The butler shuts the door.
INT. DE MORAES’ MANSION, HALLWAY. LATE AFTERNOON.
Footsteps echoing... Grand white marble floor, broad staircase,
modern art... Lombard peers around, following close behind the
butler who heads for...
Huge double doors; The butler opens them, stands aside, announces:
BUTLER
Mister Lombard.
INT. DE MORAES’ DRAWING ROOM. LATE AFTERNOON.
Lombard steps in past the butler - who backs out, closing the
doors - and stops... taking in...
A BLACK AND WHITE NIGHTMARE of modern Italian interior decorating:
lots of marble, chrome, glass, steel and leather; more modern art.
WE FIND...
An old couple, THE SPITZES, sit side by side at a glass table,
strangely upright, she dark, intense, her hands on a large
envelope, he morose and bespectacled, with a coffee mug and half-
eaten DOUGHNUT... DEBORAH (stunning, in a crimson tweed suit, its
jacket low cut, baring her cleavage and pearl necklace) stands
behind them, arms crossed, a cigarette between her fingers... And,
deep in the room by a blazing fire, CARLOS (dark, handsome, Latin
manhood in all its carnal glory) and MR BANI (50s, very Italian)
sit in armchairs studying huge technical diagrams and EYEING
LOMBARD ABSENT-MINDEDLY. Mrs Spitz motions to the chair of twisted
metal opposite her, saying, in a strong, rasping GERMAN ACCENT:
MRS SPITZ
You are late, Mr Lombard. I very much hope
you are better at your job than at keeping
time. Anyway, come and sit down.
Lombard peers at her; a flicker of irritation behind his eyes...
Then, wilfully:
LOMBARD
Good afternoon, Mrs...?
MRS SPITZ
Spitz. We spoke on the telephone.
(perfunctorily introducing the others)
My husband...
(Mr Spitz nods at Lombard)
My daughter, Deborah, whose house this is.
(Deborah just looks back at him)
My son-in-law, Carlos...
(he shows a few white teeth)
The gentleman is a business partner of
his.
(Mr Bani looks blankly at Lombard)
Now are you going to sit down or is it your intention to remain
standing, Mr Lombard?
DEBORAH
Come, come, give the man time to probe,
Mummy. Don’t you know private detectives
like to appraise people?
(looking Lombard up and down)
Aren’t I right, Mr Lombard?
IN ON Lombard; a frown... He APPRAISES Deborah... rests his gaze
on her cleavage... SMILES... glances towards... Carlos and Mr Bani
have begun to whisper IN ITALIAN over their diagrams (THEIR KEEN
WHISPERED CHAT WILL GO ON THROUGHOUT THE SCENE)... turns back to
Deborah, sends her a charming smile and starts for the table...
LOMBARD
The pleasure is mine, Mrs De Moraes.
Deborah purses her lips, takes a drag of her cigarette and sneers
as... Lombard sits, grimaces, twists to inspect his chair’s
tortuous back, turns back to the Spitzes and, now appreciating why
they sit so stiffly, grins, pushes his chair back, settles on its
edge and reaches for his Gitanes...
LOMBARD
May I...(smoke)?
MRS SPITZ
(she waves a hand: ‘If you must’)
May I ask if you are Jewish, Mr Lombard?
IN ON Lombard; a fed-up frown as he lights his cigarette...
MRS SPITZ
Lombard, this is not a Jewish name, is it?
LOMBARD
(pocketing his Gitanes, with a SMILE)
I hope it’s not too significant.
MRS SPITZ
What if it is?
LOMBARD
Well, I would have to point out that we
could have dealt with that question when
you called this morning, Mrs Spitz. I
wouldn’t like to think I’d kept you
waiting for nothing.
IN ON Mrs Spitz... Displeasure darkens her eyes... She appraises
him...
MRS SPITZ
Whatever, you come recommended. We...
LOMBARD
Recommended?
MRS SPITZ
Must I speak to you in French?
LOMBARD
Didn’t you say I came recommended?
(off her look: ‘Yes’)
That’s what I thought. May I know by whom?
MRS SPITZ
You may not. And besides, it is
irrelevant.
LOMBARD
(after a beat, deciding to yield)
Okay. Recommended...
MRS SPITZ
Good. Now, as I trust you may have
guessed, we are looking for someone to
work for us. Someone whose discretion can
be relied upon. Someone who while in our
employ would give us full commitment. Do
you think you could be that person, Mr
Lombard?
LOMBARD
(he peers at her, then at his
cigarette)
Look Mrs Spitz... I don’t know to whom I’m
indebted for the recommendation but... I’m
not in the business of making oaths of
allegiance or giving myself character
references. What I do is listen to what
the people who care to call me have to say
and judge whether or not I can be of help.
I hope you can appreciate that, Mrs Spitz.
MRS SPITZ
What I can appreciate is insolence, Mr
Lombard!
Lombard scowls, turns to... Mr Spitz, eyes fixed on his cup, says
a few words in YIDDISH... his hand squeezing his wife’s arm, a
gesture firm but appeasing.
DEBORAH (OS)
Would you like a doughnut, Mr Lombard?
Lombard looks up... IN ON Deborah; a provocative smile, gleeful
contempt...
Lombard stands, leans across the table, stamps out his cigarette
in her ashtray.
LOMBARD
Don’t disturb the butler. I remember the
way out.
MISTER SPITZ
(softly; MILD GERMAN ACCENT)
Sit down, please, Mr Lombard. Sit down...
Lombard turns to Mr Spitz... uneasy eyes in a patchwork of deep
wrinkles...
MISTER SPITZ
Please, forgive us. We did not mean to
offend you. It’s just that...
DEBORAH
Let him go, Daddy. This is pointless
anyway. Wonder boy’s soon enough going to
run out of cash and stagger back to the
nest.
MRS SPITZ
Shut up, Deborah!
UNEASY SILENCE. Deborah sighs, sneers, stamps out her cigarette.
MISTER SPITZ
We were hoping to ask you to look for our
son, Mr Lombard. He...
(off Lombard’s look)
He has been missing for three weeks now.
We are worried he might be in trouble...
DEBORAH
Oh, come on! If you must go ahead with
this you might as well get to the point.
(to Lombard)
As for you, if you’re determined to stay
and hear about my dear brother’s riveting
personality, you might as well sit down
again. Boredom is easier handled that way.
And by the way, before you ask, the boy
Leon is 31 years old.
SILENCE AGAIN. Mrs Spitz glares at Deborah, who lights a new
cigarette... Mr Spitz fixes his pained eyes on his clasped
hands...
Lombard decides to sit down, saying helpfully to the Spitzes:
LOMBARD
I take it your son is called Leon?
MRS SPITZ
Leonard. What my daughter is on about, Mr
Lombard, is that Leonard is somewhat of a
Bohemian. You might as well know that...
DEBORAH
For Bohemian read ex-university drop-out
and ex-failed rock star recently turned
Artist Photographer. Oh yes, and a most
likely relapsing ex-heroin addict.
MRS SPITZ
We do not know that for certain, Deborah!
DEBORAH
I said ‘likely’, Mummy.
MRS SPITZ
(to Lombard, irritated)
Leonard is a good boy, but sadly he likes
bad company and is susceptible... Two
years ago we sent him to a... a
detoxification clinic. It has had the
desired effect. He has since been very
content living in the apartment I bought
him here in London and, until three weeks
ago, he called every fortnight to our home
in Scotland.
DEBORAH
Money doesn’t grow on trees...
MRS SPITZ
(to Lombard, with irate defensiveness)
Leonard is now devoting his time to
photography. It is good for him. My
husband and I have chosen to support him
in this. He also works, though. In a
restaurant...
(quickly, preempting Deborah)
He washes the dishes. Three evenings a
week he washes the dishes.
TENSE SILENCE; Lombard surveys the opulent room, comes across...
A FRAMED PHOTOGRAPH: Carlos, triumphant in racing driver’s
overalls, on a podium - Magnum of Champagne in one hand, garland
around his neck...
LOMBARD
What do you think has happened to your
son, Mrs Spitz?
MRS SPITZ
You wouldn’t be here if I knew, Mr
Lombard. What I do know is that he has not
been at work for three weeks. That
enquiries to the police and London
hospitals have borne no results. And that
a check with his bank revealed he has not
used his account for four weeks now.
LOMBARD
How did you do that, Mrs Spitz?
MRS SPITZ
Do what, Mr Lombard?
LOMBARD
Check with your son’s bank. Banks don’t
usually give out information about their
customers.
MRS SPITZ
I said earlier that my husband and I are
supporting Leonard in his photography, Mr
Lombard. By this I mean that since his
return from America I have been depositing
for him a monthly allowance in an account
we jointly hold. So as you see, I did not
have to break the law to find out if he
used the account.
LOMBARD
I didn’t mean to imply you did, Mrs Spitz.
MRS SPITZ
Then you should not have sought an
explanation.
LOMBARD
(after a beat, grinning)
I presume you checked your son’s
apartment...
MRS SPITZ
Yesterday. It all looked normal.
LOMBARD
Did you look for his passport, driving
licence?
MRS SPITZ
Leonard does not hold a driving licence.
As for his passport, I do not know where
he keeps it.
LOMBARD
So he could have decided to go on a
trip...
MRS SPITZ
He could indeed, Mr Lombard. But had he
done so I think he would have let us know
about it.
LOMBARD
Then why aren’t you asking the police to
look for your son, Mrs Spitz?
DEBORAH
At last! A pertinent question. Come on,
Mummy: answer the detective.
MISTER SPITZ
(looking up sadly into Lombard’s eyes)
Leonard used to disappear like this before
his treatment, Mr Lombard. Whether he has
reverted to his former habit is something
we would rather not find out through the
police. I’m sure you can understand...
MRS SPITZ
(with a scolding glance at her
husband) )
I am categorical Leonard has had no
interest in drugs since he came back from
America.
The Spitzes eye each other somberly...
DEBORAH
Now you know why you’re here, Mr Lombard.
(enjoying herself now)
It might be difficult for someone like you
to discern, but we are people of a certain
standing.
LOMBARD
Appearances can be deceptive, Mrs De
Moraes.
DEBORAH
That depends what you’re looking at.
IN ON Deborah; cold defiance in her eyes... IN ON Lombard; a cruel
flicker in his... He softens, smiles, asks, only slowly moving his
eyes away from hers...
LOMBARD
I take it your son is not married, Mrs
Spitz?
MRS SPITZ
No. And before you ask, no, he’s not gay!
He has had girlfriends, but nothing
serious...
LOMBARD
Any friends?
MRS SPITZ
The proprietor of his workplace is the
only friend of his we know about.
(she slaps the envelope on the table)
His address is in this envelope with
Leonard’s address, keys and other things
you might need.
(she glances impatiently at her watch)
LOMBARD
I’m sure... As far as you know, when and
where was your son last seen?
MRS SPITZ
When... I’m told he came here...
DEBORAH
Three weeks ago. To borrow money. I wasn’t
here but he got to my husband, sold him
some fancy story about an exhibition of
his work and needing money to get new
prints made. Carlos handed over £1,000 to
get rid of him.
LOMBARD
And that is the last time any...
DEBORAH
Well, Leon does not need money for prints,
Mr Lombard. Does his own printing.
Wouldn’t want anyone to interfere with his
‘Art’!
(after a beat, perversely)
Which, as he subsequently vanished, raises
the question: what was the money for?
Perish the thought.
IN ON Mrs Spitz - this has hit home; she scowls at the envelope
under her fingers... slides it across the table towards Lombard...
MRS SPITZ
The £1,000 is on account.
LOMBARD
(he peers at the envelope, then off
her look)
My rates...
MRS SPITZ
We are aware of your rates, Mr Lombard. We
will pay you double your rates plus
expenses. In return, need I say it again,
we expect discretion and undivided
attention.
LOMBARD
(a long beat; then, grinning)
Why do you think your son chose not to
come to you for funds for his photography,
Mrs Spitz?
MRS SPITZ
Ha... No, Mr Lombard. His monthly
allowance is all he is to expect from us.
He knows it and we feel the amount is more
than adequate.
Lombard nods... thinks... reaches for the envelope and stands...
MRS SPITZ
My husband and I will be leaving tomorrow
for a short stay in Israel. Deborah will
be here if you need anything before our
return.
LOMBARD
Fine. One more thing, Mrs and Mr Spitz;
may I ask what is or was your occupation?
MISTER SPITZ
We make and sell shoes and leather
garments.
Lombard peers briefly at him, nods, then turns to Deborah:
LOMBARD
What about you, Mrs De Moraes?
DEBORAH
(taken aback, after a beat...)
I have too much money to work, Mr Lombard.
LOMBARD
Is that why your brother braved coming
here to ask you for a loan?
DEBORAH
(she eyeballs him, then, calmly:)
Perhaps it wasn’t so brave of him. Had I
been here I just might have given him his
money, Mr Lombard. One can reap rewards
from the strangest of conduct, as someone
in your line of work ought to know.
LOMBARD
(he grins, nods, turns to Carlos,
calls:)
Was it cash, Mr De Moraes?
(Carlos looks back, baffled)
The £1,000. You gave it to him in cash?
CARLOS
(SUAVE BRAZILIAN ACCENT)
Oh. Leon. Yes. We’ve always got cash in...
We always keep money in the house.
LOMBARD
De Moraes. That’s a Brazilian name, no?
CARLOS
(flashing white teeth)
That’s right. Do you know Brazil?
LOMBARD
No. Do you work, Mr De Moraes?
CARLOS
Work? Oh yes. I race motorcars, you
know...
(waving towards the diagrams)
That is what this is all about, ha ha...
IN ON Lombard... A polite smile.
EXT. FOOTBALL PITCH, MARKET ROAD. EARLY EVENING.
POURING RAIN on a floodlit pitch. A match is in progress, a LOCAL-
SHOPKEEPERS-KEEP-FIT kind of affair; men of all shapes, ages and
races run, puff and yell in disparate shirts divided into YELLOWS
and REDS.
The ball is kicked into the air... drops to... Lombard (LIVERPOOL
SHIRT) kills its fall on his chest, proceeds upfield... past one
YELLOW PLAYER... another... goes for a third, slips and falls...
“FOUL!” screams someone... Lombard picks himself up, grins at...
A player with a crew cut: MARK OAK.
EXT. UPPER STREET, NORTH LONDON. EARLY EVENING.
MORE RAIN. CARS CRAWL in the halos of their headlights, crowds
scurry along the pavements, between the cars...
IN ON A GOOD-LOOKING BRUNETTE, a striking figure, umbrella held
high; she saunters around the front of...
LOMBARD’S TRIUMPH, at the kerb, engine idling... Through swishing
wipers, Lombard, in tracksuit top, watches her impassively, a
cigarette between his lips... His passenger door is open, a man,
Mark Oak, in a raincoat, is leaning into the car, eyes greedily
following the brunette as he talks (HIS DIALOGUE COVERING ALL THE
ABOVE):
MARK OAK (ON/OFF SCREEN)
‘So what’s your problem?’ I says; ‘I mean,
if she’s beautiful and great in bed,
huh?!’ ‘Well, she’s kind of psychic,’ he
says; ‘You know - precognitive.’ ‘Well,
if she’s a good fuck,’ I says, ‘who cares,
huh?’ ‘That’s just it,’ he says; ‘Whenever
we’re at it, she keeps yelling “Anthony!
Anthony!”’ The guy’s called Steve, right?
‘Sorry?’ I says. And you know what the
poor bloke says? He says: ‘She says she
can’t help it. She’s got to yell the name
of the next bloke she’s gonna lay.’
Honest to God, ha-ha...
INT. TRIUMPH. EARLY EVENING.
IN ON Lombard; a polite smile... then a frown as he sees...
Arriving beside Mark Oak: JANE (young, bubbly, shamelessly
flirtatious, in a puffa jacket) panting but beaming through her
drooping wet blond hair...
MARK OAK
Oh Dear! Here’s my other tenant...
JANE
(keeping her eyes on Lombard)
Hello, Mr Oak. Hi, Savieer. You’re going
home?
MARK OAK
(before Lombard can speak, gesturing
her in)
He is. If you would, mademoiselle.
Jane sends Lombard a searching glance... He nods... She beams,
gets in, noticing... Lombard’s eyes on her hands holding something
under her jacket...
JANE
Fish and chips. Keeping it warm.
MARK OAK
(leaning in again, winking at Lombard)
Better rush. Just saw a brunette going my
way.
(sniffing the air above Jane)
Ah, the smell of warm, moist fish... Too
bad...
He grins at Jane and shuts the door. Jane watches him walk away
with a disgusted look on her face, then, as Lombard pulls away,
says coyly:
JANE
Hello again, neighbour. I didn’t intrude,
did I?
LOMBARD
How are you, Jane?
JANE
Fine. How was the match? Did you loose?
LOMBARD
No.
JANE
Must be your lucky day then. I’ve got your
accounts - you don’t owe much tax for last
year.
LOMBARD
Good.
JANE
Yes. But my boss reckons you’d still be
better off as a limited company. For
expenses and all that, you know? It’d cost
you about £100 but he said it’d be worth
it.
(off Lombard’s silence)
Of course, you’d need a partner to
register. But that’s a formality. I mean,
I could be your partner. I mean, just as a
name, right?
Lombard grins; this is all too familiar... He pulls into quiet
ESSEX ROAD, revs-up... Jane gazes pensively at his hand on the
gear stick, looks away...
JANE
Have you heard of a French film called “La
Collectionoose”?
LOMBARD
La what?
JANE
“La collectionoose”. It’s about a young
girl in the south of France who seduces a
different man every night and then meets
one who resists her. It’s on TV tonight
and as I’m in I thought we could perhaps
look at your accounts and... The review
says it’s about the conflict between
intellect and instinct. And witty. The
director’s supposed to be famous. Rommel
or something. French. You must know him?
LOMBARD
Should I?
JANE
I don’t know. How many famous French film
directors can there be?
LOMBARD
That are called Rommel or something, I
guess not that many.
(he pulls up at the kerb)
JANE
So you haven’t seen the film, then?
LOMBARD
It’s Friday night, Jane. What happened to
your latest boyfriend?
JANE
Oh... We split up.
LOMBARD
(switching his engine off)
Well, I hope you’re not too heartbroken
and...
JANE
Oh no. I’m all right. He was a jerk,
really. Another boy, you know? All I meet
is boys. When I think of all the fuss
about older men fancying young girls. I
mean, is it true?
Lombard shakes his head, picks up his sportsbag and gets out...
LOMBARD
Your fish and chips must be getting cold,
Jane.
EXT. ESSEX ROAD. EVENING.
Jane gets out INTO THE RAIN, asking across the Triumph roof:
JANE
No. Seriously. I mean, what about you,
Savieer? Do you think older men like
younger girls?
He peers at her... Mild despair... He flicks his Gitane away,
locks his door...
LOMBARD
What about Mr Oak, Jane?
(looking up, off her puzzled look:)
He might even give you a rent rebate.
IN ON Jane; she understands... A stung young animal... she glares
and... storms off to a door beside the screened shop front of a
building... IN ON Lombard; a touched smile as he watches her
struggle angrily with her keys...
LOMBARD
I’ve got work tonight, Jane.
JANE
(too hurt and angry for cleverness)
Oh yeah! Better be good and hurry away
then! Who knows? We might be being
watched! Maybe one of your stupid French
companies has got a detective prying into
your life - after all, that’s what they do
to their employees, isn’t it? Huh! Hope
you enjoy ruining people’s lives. Thanks
for the lift!
She goes in, slams the door... Standing in the rain, Lombard peers
coldly at the door then... makes for it, puts his key in the
lock... As he struggles with the lock we see.. A sign above the
shop: M. OAK & SONS, FAMILY BUTCHER.
INT. LOMBARD’S OFFICE, LOMBARD’S FLAT. EVENING.
SILENCE BUT FOR SOME SOFT SHUFFLING MOVEMENTS... The room is BARE
- four chairs, a desk with computer, telephone and answering
machine and TWO GOLDFISH in a large aquarium.
IN ON the desk; on and around MRS SPITZ’S ENVELOPE: a wad of £50
notes, a set of Yale keys, an A4 sheet with, in neat handwriting:
Deborah’s phone number... the Spitzes Scottish number... and:
-“Leonard’s Address: 14b, Drake Avenue, NW2. (top floor)”
-“Philip Smith (Leonard’s Employer): The Four Seasons, Holmes
Road, NW5. Tel: 0171...”
INT. LOMBARD’S BEDROOM, LOMBARD’S FLAT. EVENING.
DIFFUSED LIGHTING. In front of a mirror, Lombard finishes dressing
in a clean suit, fastening his cufflinks... WE MOVE ON TO...
LOMBARD’s football kit strewn on a chair... A TV set on a stool...
An open wardrobe... A roughly made bed with a dry-cleaner’s
wrapper and a dark suit jacket on it... A half-full ashtray and
Gitanes pack on the bedside-table...
EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET, NORTH LONDON. EVENING.
RAIN. In a raincoat, smoking, Lombard leans against his Triumph,
eyeing...
Across the street: A MODERN APARTMENT COMPLEX... He flicks his
cigarette away...
INT. LEON SPITZ’ APARTMENT. EVENING.
SILENCE. Lombard stands in the doorway, against the lit
corridor... IN ON his gold-banded hand feeling the wall, finding
the lightswitch... LIGHT! He is looking into a HALLWAY. He goes
in, shuts the door and steps into...
THE LIVING ROOM (spacious, all mod-cons, noticeably CLEAN AND
TIDY). Lombard surveys the room, eyes scanning the walls hung
with...
Large BLACK & WHITE PHOTOGRAPHS: A naked girl in a coffin as if
dead ; A scantily clad girl in contorted pose with blood and
wounds (after-rape scene?) ; A girl pierced with arrows (fallen
angel?) ; A girl in nightgown impaled on railings (broken
innocence?) ; A girl in a foggy landscape, dressed as death, with
scythe and all, mouth wide in a scream - an explanatory caption
here: “DOES DEATH FEAR DEATH?”.
Lombard shakes his head, proceeds around the room, past...
Bookshelves... A few spines... many books about the holocaust.
Tape and CD collection - Bob Dylan, The Doors, Nirvana...
Video shelf... old B&W thrillers, ‘noir’ titles like ‘DOA’, ‘The
Big Heat’ etc... A Disney tape: ‘Sleeping Beauty’... LOMBARD
RAISES AN EYEBROW...
Now he rifles through a pile of magazines... ‘Time Out’, ‘Sight &
Sound’... a book of photographs by Bill Brandt...
He glances at the FLASHING LIGHT of an Answerphone and goes out
to...
THE KITCHEN (tidy, but for a dirty bowl and spoon by the sink).
He lifts the dustbin lid, looks inside...
Empty cereal box, milk carton, Ravioli cans...
THE BEDROOM (Spartan, a double bed, messed up on one side only).
Lombard scans the room from the doorway, moves to...
The bedside table... A box of tissues, an open book, cover facing
up: “OCCULT BONDAGE AND DELIVERANCE”...
Lombard opens the drawer... a COLOUR PHOTO in a perspex stand...
He reaches for it... A COUPLE arm in arm by a mountain stream -
she, good- looking, blond, late 20s, jeans, country type; he,
early 30s, thin, with long black curly hair, roughly dressed.
He replaces the snapshot, moves to... A chest of drawers; he pulls
open the top drawer, glances in...
THE BATHROOM (bare except for a bar of soap, toothbrush,
toothpaste, shampoo, towel, pack of disposable razors and can of
shaving foam).
Lombard opens a medicine cabinet; box of Q-tips, aspirins...
Looks into the small dustbin; a twisted toothpaste tube...
Gazes at the toothpaste tube on the sink... half used, lid on...
A DARKROOM (wealth of equipment, hanging negs, dry developing
trays; piles of contact sheets and prints). Lombard leafs through
some prints... More girls in macabre poses... Checks the
enlarger’s neg carrier... empty... Leafs through a pile of contact
sheets... shots of London scenes: market crowds, STROLLERS IN
PARKS, roadworkers...
Leaving the room he distractedly glances at... A wall-mounted
phone, NUMBERS SCRAWLED ON THE WALL around it.
BACK IN THE SITTING ROOM.
A DESK DRAWER... Lombard leafs through a pile of papers... Leon’s
last bank statement:... in credit by around £20... Access card
statement: credit limit £1,000. Leon owes £997,50... Bills...
final Reminders...
Another drawer... among personal effects - silver lighter, cheap
watch, Donald Duck keyring, pens - an ADDRESS BOOK and a BRITISH
PASSPORT...
Lombard flips through the address book: mostly blank pages...
Opens the passport: the same man as in the colour photo; eyes dark
and haunted, long black hair plastered to his skull, mouth tightly
shut...
NAME: LEONARD JOZEF SPITZ...
Lombard glances out the dark window to the streetlamps below,
pockets the address book, replaces the passport, shuts the drawer,
PUSHES THE ANSWERING MACHINE PLAY BUTTON and moves back to...
THE BEDROOM... Lombard returns to the bedside cabinet, retrieves
the colour photo and removes it from its perspex stand...
ANSWERING MACHINE
MAN: Yeah. Phil here, man. What the fuck
you doing, eh? It’s 8:30, the place is
full and I’m doing the bloody washing-up.
Get your arse over here, got it - beep.
PHIL: Thanks for shit, Leon. You better
have a good reason for this when I see
your face tomorrow - beep.
GIRL WITH A WELSH ACCENT: Hi Leon... It’s
me. I’ll call again... - beep.
MRS SPITZ: Leonard, this is your mother.
Call me when you get home, all right -
beep.
PHIL: What the fuck are you playing at,
you bastard. If I don’t see your arse here
in the next hour you’re through,
understood? - beep...
WELSH GIRL: Leon? (long pause) Are you
there? (long pause)... - beep.
PHIL: Son of a... - beep.
MRS SPITZ: Leonard! It is Tuesday now.
What is happening? I have been calling
your work and they tell me you have not
been there. I am in London next week and I
hope to hear from you before then - beep.
WELSH GIRL: I, er, I tried to reach you at
work but Phil said you’d left... I hope
you - I hope everything’s all right...
-Long beep. Rewind.
Thoughtful, Lombard pockets the photo and checks his watch....
INT. THE FOUR SEASONS RESTAURANT. EVENING.
Small, seedy, ‘cool’ place. LOUD ROCK MUSIC. A foursome talking
animatedly; couples eating quietly; a gay couple; a lone WAITRESS
moving between the tables, some empty. WE FIND...
Lombard, out of place, waits for attention just inside the door,
COLD EYES ASSESSING... By the kitchen door behind the bar: PHIL
(pony-tailed) chats with a young CHEF (messy uniform, smoking,
rocking to the music). BOTH ARE CLEARLY HIGH ON DOPE.
WAITRESS
Evening. Table for one?
LOMBARD
(charming, milking his French accent)
No. Thank you. Could you tell me if Leon
Spitz is here, please?
WAITRESS
(she eyes him up and down, surprised)
Leon? No. I’m afraid he left.
LOMBARD
Left? When? I just come from his place and
there was no one there. A neighbour of
his...
WAITRESS
No. I meant he left as in no longer works
here.
LOMBARD
(he affects a worried frown)
Oh. This is... We’d arranged to meet
tonight and I’m due to return to Paris
tomorrow...
WAITRESS
I’m sorry...
LOMBARD
Yes. You wouldn’t know where I could reach
him? We had to discuss an exhibition of
his photographs at my Paris gallery, you
see? I really need to see him before I
leave.
After a beat, she shrugs, gestures for him to wait...
She makes for the bar where she speaks to Phil who eyeballs
Lombard over her shoulder before striding across the room... He
stops in front of Lombard, hands in pockets, with a pissed-off
frown:
PHIL
Welcome to the club.
LOMBARD
Excuse me?
PHIL
I hear you’re looking for Leon. That
makes me, his old-lady, and now you,
looking for the little bastard. Leon’s
gone, man. Vanished. You interested in his
photographs?
LOMBARD
Uh-huh.
PHIL
No shit... Well, I’m afraid I can’t help
you.
LOMBARD
I take it you don’t know where he is,
then?
PHIL
Huh! You could always try Suicide Bridge.
(off Lombard’s puzzled look)
You don’t know Leon, do you?
LOMBARD
I know his work better than I know him.
PHIL
Let me put it this way then; the
photographs and the man? One and the same,
man, one and the same. At best fucking
weird, at worst fucked-up fucking weird.
Maybe you should think yourself lucky.
Some folks just ain’t worth getting
involved with. And Leon sure is one of
‘em.
LOMBARD
What about his girlfriend?
PHIL
What about which girlfriend?
LOMBARD
(describing the girl from the photo)
Small, blond, good-looking. She was with
him when we met. She had a funny English
accent.
PHIL
Oh. That’d be Rhian, a Welsh chick he used
to lay at weekends. She got wise and
dumped him months ago...
LOMBARD
Would you know where I might reach her?
PHIL
Yeah! Somewhere in Wales. I don’t really
know her. Used to turn up in a Transit van
on weekends, sell old furniture at Camden.
That’s how come he only laid her at
weekends, ha ha...
LOMBARD
Could that be Camden Market?
PHIL
Yeah. Why? You’re going to look for her...
Shit! You really think his pictures
are that good?
LOMBARD
(his cold eyes focused on Phil)
Fucked-up fucking weird.
IN ON Phil; a confounded frown... Should he laugh?
EXT. OUTSIDE THE FOUR SEASONS. NIGHT.
RAIN. Under a streetlamp, Lombard leafs through... LEON’S
ADDRESS BOOK: ‘R’ page... It is blank... He frowns, pockets the
book, turns to...
EXT. CAMDEN MARKET. DAY.
A GREY DAY. A CACOPHONY OF 60S AND 70S TRACKS AS WE SEE... A slow
moving sea of trendiness drifts between the market stalls... WE
FIND...
SEQUENCE of Lombard searching the faces of ‘antiques’ stall-
holders through the market... Now peering at A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN...
Glaring at a group of impeccable YOUNG PUNKS, as if preserved from
the 70’s, but French; their voices drift across: ‘Hey, c’est cool
ça, non?’... Looking over an AGEING WOMAN in fishnet tights
swaying to a Bob Dylan song... Walking calmly on as people hurry
from the RETURNING RAIN... and on until, drenched and weary, he
stops to light a cigarette near...
A GUY with a plastic hood hops up and down behind his sorry
display of wet cigarette lighters on a box. A sodden handwritten
sign reads: ‘5 LIGHTERS £1’
LOMBARD
(eyeing the sign, without malice)
Is there really a living in this?
The young guy looks back at him, vexed, looks away...
Blowing the smoke from his cigarette, Lombard eyes him, confused,
then turns away to... A TRAMP rummaging through a bin...
INT. LEON’S FLAT, SITTING ROOM. DAY.
Lombard is listening to the messages again...
ANSWERING MACHINE
MRS SPITZ: ... in London next week and I
hope to hear from you before then - beep.
WELSH GIRL: I, er, I tried to reach you at
work but Phil said you’d left... I hope
you - I hope everything’s all right - long
beep. Rewind.
Lombard picks up the receiver, is about to dial, changes his mind,
presses the LAST RECALL BUTTON. A few rings... No answer. He
DIALS... 1-4-7-1...
PHONE COMPUTERIZED VOICE
Call box number 01766 770 471 called on
Thursday the 9th of Novem...
He hangs up, peers out the window... a flicker of thought...
INT. LEON’S DARKROOM. DAY.
A RINGING TONE. Lombard is on the wall-mounted phone, waiting, his
eyes on... THE NUMBERS SCRAWLED ON THE WALL: Amongst a few London
numbers, several six digit numbers, WITH THE CODE 01766...
No answer. He redials... After a few rings a little girl’s voice:
LITTLE GIRL #1 (OS)
Hello?
LOMBARD
Hello. Who is this?
(A giggle... whispers... several girls
giggling; Lombard frowns...)
Hello? Can I speak to your mother?
LITTLE GIRL #1 (OS)
(suppressing giggles)
You have reached the wrong number... This
is the speaking sheep. At the third baa it
will be time to have a pee - baa, baa,
baa!
(roars of girlish laughter)
LOMBARD
Listen you...
LITTLE GIRL #2 (OS)
(speaking very fast, laughing)
This is the speaking sheep. At the third
baa it will be time for a pooh - baa, baa,
baa!
(she laughs and hangs up)
IN ON Lombard staring at the handset, incensed; he dials again.
DIRECTORY ENQUIRIES OPERATOR (OS)
Directory enquiries. Can I help you?
LOMBARD
Yes. I’m trying to reach a friend but I
can’t get through. The number is 01766 770
471.
DIRECTORY ENQUIRIES OPERATOR (OS)
01766 770 471. Let me check it for you,
sir.
Waiting, Lombard takes out a pen, reaches for a CONTACT SHEET,
absent- mindedly scans it... STROLLERS IN A PARK... He flips it
round as:
DIRECTORY ENQUIRIES OPERATOR (OS)
There’s nothing wrong with the line, sir.
Are you sure you have the right number?
770 471 is the number of a call box.
LOMBARD
A call box? That’s odd. Where exactly?
DIRECTORY ENQUIRIES OPERATOR (OS)
Penrhyndeudraeth, North Wales.
LOMBARD
Can you tell me how you spell...
INT. STATIONARY TRIUMPH OUTSIDE LEON’S FLAT. DAY.
RAIN DRUMS ON THE CAR. Lombard scans a road map...
IN ON A ROAD MAP: up along the M1... onto the M6...blue lines
snaking... move to another page... M54... A5... And on until...
EXT. WELSH ROAD. AFTERNOON.
Rain: A road sign: ‘PENRHYNDEUDRAETH’... The Triumph speeds
past...
EXT. PENRHYNDEUDRAETH, MAIN SQUARE. DAY.
His back to a red phone box, Lombard scrutinizes... The village
square: police station, Post Office, Pub, ‘Spar’ grocer.... It’s
quaint, quiet and dull.
INT. SPAR GROCER. DAY.
A couple of CUSTOMERS (country housewife types). Lombard is
talking to the GROCER (red-faced, lovable type)...
LOMBARD
... She sold me a couple of chairs in
London and I’ve come to collect the
matching pair. Unfortunately, I seem to
have mislaid her address. She’s small,
blond, attractive. I think she drives a
Transit van...
LADY SHOPPER
(cutting in behind him; Welsh accent)
Rhian Gelli is the one he must be looking
for...
EXT. SMALL COUNTRY ROAD. AFTERNOON.
The rain has stopped. No houses in sight. The Triumph crosses a
small bridge... pulls over by a cattle grid leading to A DIRT
TRACK along a river...
INT. TRIUMPH. Lombard checks a roughly drawn map on a paper
bag...
EXT. The TRIUMPH bounces through puddles along the TRACK...comes
to...
A SMALL CLEARING; A battered blue TRANSIT VAN stands there, alone.
INT. TRIUMPH. Lombard parks by the Transit... lights a cigarette,
eyeing...
Up ahead, A FOOTPATH WINDS UP RIVER INTO THE WILDS...
EXT. FOOTPATH. AFTERNOON.
UNDER DRIPPING TREES, Lombard walks along the footpath...
reaches...
EXT. RHIAN’S COTTAGE. AFTERNOON.
The bottom of a field with grazing sheep leading to a STONE
COTTAGE, smoke rising from its chimney. Out front RHIAN (in
gumboots) splits logs with an axe. An Asian boy, SHIVA, about 10,
and a blond girl, CARYS, about 6, play football near her.
Lombard stops, observes them... starts upfield...
IN ON the Asian boy; he spots Lombard, FREEZES WITH DEAD EYES.
IN ON the blond girl; she turns to Lombard; cries out to...
IN ON Rhian; she follows the girls gaze... DREAD IN HER EYES...
IN ON Lombard; he stops, frowns as...
Yelling in WELSH, Rhian herds the two children into the cottage...
Lombard peers at the empty field for a moment, flicks his
cigarette away and resumes walking... He stops again, STIFF.
Rhian is back, heading his way, holding a DOUBLE-BARREL SHOTGUN.
RHIAN
This is private property. The public
footpath is back to the left of the
bridge.
LOMBARD
(as she stops ten yards from him)
How are you, Rhian?
IN ON Rhian; something’s wrong... She dithers... RAISES THE
SHOTGUN...
RHIAN
On-on the ground! Lie down on the ground!
Lombard scowls. She FIRES ABOVE HIS HEAD. He ducks... glares...
RHIAN
Lie down on the ground, I said!
Lombard reluctantly kneels down on the wet grass, hands up...
LOMBARD
It’s wet. Will this do?
RHIAN
(a beat as she hesitates)
Where’s your wallet? Have you got a
wallet?
LOMBARD
Is this some kind of mugging? Because...
RHIAN
Shut up! Where’s your wallet?
LOMBARD
In my jacket. Left inside pocket.
RHIAN
Reach for it and throw it to me. And... My
finger’s on the trigger, you hear!
Lombard groans, reaches for his wallet, tosses it to her... She
picks it up and, struggling to keep the shotgun on him, searches
it...
A FRENCH DRIVING LICENCE, BUSINESS CARD... She frowns, reading:
“XAVIER LOMBARD, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR...”
RHIAN
A private investigator... You’re not
Austrian?
LOMBARD
Should I be?
RHIAN
(she tosses his wallet back)
What’s a French private investigator doing
here?
LOMBARD
(reaching for his wallet)
Can I get up now?
RHIAN
No! What do you want here? How do you know
me?
LOMBARD
As you know from speaking to Phil, your
friend Leon has disappeared, Rhian. His
family have hired me to find him.
RHIAN
...Leon’s not here. How did you get here?
Phil doesn’t know where I live.
LOMBARD
Well, I obviously do. And I also know that
Leon’s not here, Rhian. But I thought that
you might know where I should look for
him.
RHIAN
You thought wrong. I haven’t seen Leon for
months.
LOMBARD
Haven’t you? Then why the worried messages
on his answering machine, Rhian? I’d have
sworn you expect him to be in trouble.
RHIAN
You-you’re wrong. I just called to ask if
I could stay with him next time I’m in
London. That’s all.
Lombard peers at her. She looks away, uneasy... He pockets his
wallet.
LOMBARD
Well, since you have a gun, I’ll take your
word for it. Now, I’m going to stand up
and quietly return to my car, all right?
Rhian stays silent... He gets to his feet and, with a pissed-off
frown, inspects his wet trouser legs, sweeps the dirt from them,
saying:
LOMBARD
By the way. Does your friend Leon employ a
cleaner? His flat seems remarkably clean,
for a single man suspected of being back
on drugs.
He peers at her... She stares, too perturbed to speak... He looks
down again...
LOMBARD
Never mind. You were my best hope of
locating him, so I guess I’m now out of a
job. I expect his family will relay my
findings to the police.
(he turns to her again... grins)
I trust you have a shotgun licence. My
apologies forsounding Austrian. Goodbye,
Rhian.
He turns and starts walking away, pulling his Gitanes from his
pocket...
RHIAN (OS)
Wait...
Lombard stops, turns back... IN ON Rhian; SHE IS CRYING,
softly...
INT. RHIAN’S COTTAGE, FIRST FLOOR LANDING. AFTERNOON.
Lombard stands behind... Rhian leans against a closed door, calls
IN WELSH:
RHIAN
Carys? Tell Shiva not to be scared. The
man’s not going to come in, all right?
(she stares at Lombard, takes a deep
breath, opens the door and moves
aside)
My daughter Carys and her friend Shiva, Mr
Lombard.
Lombard looks into...
A CHILDREN’S BEDROOM: deep inside, Carys stands protectively in
front of Shiva, her arms hugging him behind her, sullen eyes on
Lombard. Shiva, much taller, cowers behind her, DEAD-EYED.
RHIAN
Shiva doesn’t speak English so we don’t
know where he’s from or what his name is.
But we have to call him something, so
Shiva it is.
(a beat; she goes on, in bursts)
He cost £15,000. Leon bought him. From an
Austrian who sells children to perverts.
Aren’t you glad you came, Mr Lombard?
IN ON Lombard; a puzzled frown... He turns to...
Rhian, lips trembling, through her tears, she eyes him
defiantly...
RHIAN
What are you going to do now? Call the
police? Take him away? I must warn you
he’s terrified of men, so...
LOMBARD
Shut up!
Lombard turns to the children again... SMILES REASSURINGLY...
INT. RHIAN’S LIVING ROOM. AFTERNOON.
Cave-like but welcoming. SOUND OF CHILDREN PLAYING UPSTAIRS.
Lombard sits by a log fire, sombre, smoking, a cup in his hand,
eyeing...
Rhian, on the edge of an armchair, clasping a tea-mug, fighting
tears - beautiful with fire-light reflected in her tearful eyes...
RHIAN
... I thought I’d call the social services
but... He took to my daughter, started to
come out of his shell, so... He needs
care. They don’t...
(a beat, she sighs)
Anyway, that’s all I know. Six weeks ago
Leon turned up with Shiva, said he bought
him in London from an Austrian, gave me
£3,000 for his keep and left saying he was
going to try to rescue another child...
Apparently, there’s plenty more where
Shiva came from.
Lombard scrutinizes her... He drinks - she has a heavy heart,
needs time, no point in harassing her. His eyes roam the walls...
LOMBARD
Leon’s?
She follows his gaze to... A B&W PORTRAIT of her - it’s pleasant,
sensual even, unlike Leon’s other work... She nods. He smiles.
She looks away.
RHIAN
We didn’t quite make it as lovers... Leon
is a good man, though...
LOMBARD
Did Leon tell you why he didn’t want the
police involved, Rhian?
RHIAN
He just said he had good reasons.
LOMBARD
Good reasons?
RHIAN
That’s what he said. I tried to dissuade
him... Told him I couldn’t take on another
child, that he’d get into trouble... I
mean, people who sell children... But he
wasn’t listening... I guess he finally
found himself a crusade... His family
think he’s back on drugs, eh?
(off Lombard’s smile: ‘I’m afraid so’)
Huh... Leon did drugs. A lot of drugs.
Went through his self-destruct phase, you
know? Things to come to terms with.
Demons to fight... Some people’s minds are
gloriously uncomplicated. Not Leon’s. He
did beat the drug, though. He did.
LOMBARD
His mother would be pleased to hear that.
RHIAN
Yeah... But he didn’t beat the demons...
(off Lombard’s look)
A quarter of all the shoes sold in Europe
are made by or retailed through his
parent’s leather empire. All started from
a small shop in the East End of London and
war reparation money for holocaust
victims.
LOMBARD
I’m afraid I don’t understand.
RHIAN
They’re German Jews. Came here before the
war. They both lost all their families in
extermination camps, but they themselves
never went near one. The idea that his
family wealth was started with money he
believes should have gone to camp
survivors has been haunting Leon. It’s not
guilt, more of a curse...
(a beat)
And then there’s something about his
parents being involved with Nazi
hunters... But I think that’s just one of
Leon’s dark delusions...
LOMBARD
(after a beat, thoughtful)
Do you know Leon’s parents names?
RHIAN
Albert... Albert and Ethel. Why?
Lombard stays silent... CHILDISH LAUGHTER from upstairs... Rhian
glances up, down again, sends out a tense sigh, turns to Lombard
and looks away again, gently drying her tears on her sleeve.
RHIAN
What happens now, eh?
Lombard drags his cigarette, flicks it into the fire, pensive...
LOMBARD
Who else knows about the boy?
RHIAN
My sister... She lives in the next valley.
LOMBARD
Is she on the phone?
RHIAN
Yes...You-you’re not going to take Shiva
away?
Lombard takes out his wallet and a pen, finds his card and holds
it out to her.
LOMBARD
I can’t think of a good reason for it -
for now anyway. My number if anything
happens. What’s your sister’s number?
RHIAN
(incredulous, reaching for the card)
Oh, I... She just moved. I’ve got her
new... It’s in my book in the kitchen.
Wait... Thank you.
Lombard watches her hurry out... He sighs, scans the room, rests
his gaze on... Rhian’s shotgun against a wall... and stands,
pocketing his wallet and pen...
LOMBARD
And you better stop greeting strangers
with a shotgun. If Leon’s Austrian was
looking for you I reckon he’d have found
you before I did.
RHIAN
I’m sorry. It’s just you don’t look
local...
LOMBARD
No sick people in the country, huh?...
Just tell me one thing, Rhian. Leon’s
story about the boy? You just took his
word for it?
RHIAN
(staring at him from the kitchen
doorway)
He’d come prepared. He had something
besides Shiva... ‘Sleeping Beauty’. The
Disney film...
(a beat, off his look)
Well, it looked like the Disney film. It
was something else. I couldn’t watch...
IN ON Lombard; a thoughtful frown...
EXT. PENRHYNDEUDRAETH, MAIN SQUARE. DUSK.
Lombard is in the phone box, his Triumph parked beside it.
LOMBARD
Moreau? Laurent... Yeah. And you?... Good.
Listen, I wonder if you could check some
people in the computer... Yes, again...
No, they’re new clients of mine, Albert
and...
(an approaching car drowns his words)
INT. LEON’S FLAT, SITTING ROOM. EVENING.
Lombard reaches for the ‘SLEEPING BEAUTY’ video box from the
shelf... It looks like the real thing... He opens it, pulls the
tape out...
IN ON... Lombard turns it over in his hands; it is properly
labelled...
He slots it into the VCR, presses PLAY... The arrow lights up...
A CLUNK...
IN ON THE TV SCREEN: A LITTLE GIRL’S HEAD ON A PILLOW, ASLEEP...
CUT TO: TWO MEN LAUGHING AT A RESTAURANT TABLE. THEIR DIALOGUE, IN
STIFF DUBBED ENGLISH: “Renatta assures me she’s got something
special in store for us this weekend.” “Well, after last time
there can only be one thing: the perfect love machine, ha-ha...”
INT. A BRASSERIE, SOHO. NIGHT.
Lombard stands in the doorway, eyes searching... A late night hang
out; tired, lonely people, whispered conversations... NATHALIE
(young, elegant, very French) sits at a table over a coffee,
reading a “Le Monde”, smoking...
Lombard settles opposite her. She looks up, eyeballs him,
deadpan.
NATHALIE
You look like shit, Xavier.
IN ON Lombard; HE DOES, THERE IS ANGER IN HIS EYES.
LOMBARD
Comment vas-tu, Nathalie?
Nathalie just stares; a lot of things flow between their eyes,
things they don’t need to speak about. She frowns...
NATHALIE
Qu’est-ce que tu veux?
LOMBARD
Un Autrichien. Negociant en pré-
pubescents.
Nathalie raises her brows, sneers, turns back to her newspaper.
NATHALIE
Les histoires d’enfants ne m’intéressent
pas, Xavier.
Lombard grins - he knew she was going to say something like that.
LOMBARD
What’s an hour of your time worth these
days, Nathalie?
(she looks up again, softly blows out
smoke)
Combien, Nathalie!
NATHALIE
Cinq cents.
LOMBARD
Viens.
As Lombard stands, Nathalie looks beyond him... He looks back,
sees...
IN THE DOORWAY: TWO MEN (middle-aged, well-groomed) stand
searching the room. On seeing Nathalie one of them beams.
NATHALIE
J’ai bien peur qu’il te faudra attendre.
(off Lombard’s look: ‘When?’)
Pas avant la matinée.
LOMBARD
Tu sais où me trouver.
Lombard turns and makes for the door, SCOWLING AT THE TWO MEN now
making for Nathalie’s table... “Michelle! Long time no see, ha-
ha...”
INT. LOMBARD’S OFFICE. MORNING.
Lombard, asleep, slumped at his desk, head on the table between a
glass, a bottle of Cognac, the ‘Disney’ tape, a wad of £50 notes.
BANG! A red folder hits the desk. Lombard starts, sits up, bleary-
eyed... Jane (coat, handbag) gazes at him, frowning.
JANE
Your door was open. This... This women was
downstairs, ringing your bell.
Lombard looks past her... Nathalie is in the doorway, a laconic
smile on her lips... Their eyes lock... Silence... Jane waits,
then, indicating the red folder:
JANE
Your accounts. They just need your
signature. I’ve got to go to work.
Goodbye.
And she edges her way to the door... IN ON Jane as she passes
Nathalie; threatened, searching eyes... IN ON Nathalie; a smirk.
NATHALIE
Bye. And thanks...
Nathalie gently closes the door, eyes Lombard who shakes himself
awake... rolls her eyes and surveys the room...
NATHALIE
Où est passé ton salon?
LOMBARD
Mon bureau coûtait trop cher.
NATHALIE
Eh bien... T’es sûr que t’as besoin de
moi?
(off Lombard’s look: ‘What?’)
La petite m’a l’air assez bien foutue,
non?
Lombard frowns, grabs the £50 notes and videotape from his desk
and starts across the room... Barely stopping, he grabs her hand
and pushes the money into it, then goes on towards the kitchen.
LOMBARD
Café?
CUT TO:
Lombard leans against the window, smoking, a coffee in his hands,
eyeing...
Through the kitchen doorway: Nathalie sits at the table, smoking,
watching the TV screen above the fridge...
IN ON her profile; her eyebrows twitch, her cheek muscles tense...
IN ON Lombard; quiet satisfaction in his eyes...
INT. LOMBARD’S KITCHEN. MORNING.
He switches the TV off, turns to Nathalie... She gazes at the
‘Sleeping Beauty’ box on the table, her hand trembling just a
little as she lights a new cigarette.
LOMBARD
Alors?
NATHALIE
Alors quoi?
LOMBARD
Le montage, l’emballage. Not your regular
street muck, is it? This is collectors’
stuff. How much would it cost me?
NATHALIE
A l’achat, trois ou quatre mille. En
location, cinq cent. Mais ça pourrait
faire plus. Je ne sais pas. C’est pas
vraiment mon truc.
(off his look: ‘And...?’)
I don’t know any Austrian, Xavier.
LOMBARD
But maybe you know someone who does. An
Austrian, in London, dealing in kids and
snuff videos. How many can there be? These
people supply to order. He has to be
known, reachable.
NATHALIE
Then why don’t you reach him?
LOMBARD
I don’t have your credentials, Nathalie.
He looks hard into her eyes... She looks back, coldly, then takes
a drag from her cigarette, eyes on the video box again... She
looks up, sneers, then grins:
NATHALIE
Can you afford a room in a proper hotel?
(off his look)
It will look better. I also need more
money; five hundred in an envelope and the
same again for my time.
INT. WEST END NIGHTCLUB. NIGHT.
LOUD MUSIC. Happy groups around tables... Sweaty people writhing
on the dance floor... Couples snogging... We FIND...
At a table near the bar: Lombard sits, smoking, watching as...
Nathalie works her way across the room to a table where a MIDDLE-
AGED MAN (suit) and a YOUNG WOMAN (a prostitute) sit. The man
eyes Nathalie, grins, signals the young woman... She scowls at
Nathalie, stands and makes for the bar. Nathalie sits, pulls an
envelope from her handbag and puts it in front of the man as...
Passing Lombard’s table, the young woman turns, stops, smiles,
steps towards him. He smiles, politely...
LOMBARD
I’m afraid I’m otherwise engaged.
EXT. WEST END NIGHTCLUB/PICCADILLY CIRCUS. NIGHT.
Lombard and Nathalie emerge from the club... walk into the dark...
NATHALIE
You’re a trustworthy sicko of mine who’s
heard only good things about the
Austrian’s products and doesn’t want
anything else. He claims not to know of
any Austrian but he’ll call around.
There’s no refund if he fails to deliver.
You should get a call tonight.
They go on walking in heavy silence... reach PICCADILLY CIRCUS.
Nathalie stops, flags down a BLACK TAXICAB.
LOMBARD
Is he your pimp?
She looks straight into his eyes. He smiles, sadly, as the cab
pulls up beside them and the CAB DRIVER opens his window.
NATHALIE
We are so alike, Xavier. Still, sometimes
I wonder which one of us is the ugliest.
LOMBARD
(after a beat, opening the cab door)
If you can, send me a receipt.
Nathalie smirks, gets into the cab, says to the driver:
NATHALIE
Clarence Square. And hurry, I’m late.
Lombard shuts the door and the cab pulls away...
He stands for a moment, gazing at... EROS, silhouetted against
neon; homeless youths on the steps around it... He turns away,
down Piccadilly, towards...
‘LE MERIDIAN’ HOTEL, glistening expensively in the dark night...
INT. LE MERIDIAN, ROOM 142. NIGHT.
Lombard lies on the bed, shoes and jacket off, the phone on his
chest, dialling.
LOMBARD
Moreau? C’est moi. Alors...
MOREAU (O.S.)
Salut, Laurent. Ouais. It wasn’t easy but
I got what you wanted through Interpol.
Say, what’s your business with these
Spitzes?
LOMBARD
They lost their son. Why?
MOREAU (OS)
It appears that in their younger days they
were actively involved with a shady German
group of Nazi hunters known as “Never
Forget”. Over the years we’re talking
about a dozen or so execution-type
killings.
LOMBARD
Are they still operative?
MOREAU (OS)
Their last suspected kill occurred two
years back, though your Spitzes now
probably do no more than bankroll the
group. Still, I’d watch my step. These
people are well-connected, Laurent; former
Israeli prime minister, etc. The lady’s
also president of an international Zionist
organisation... Anyway, you get the
picture.
LOMBARD
Mossad?
MOREAU (OS)
It’s a good guess...
Lombard frowns... Mutters a ‘Thanks, Moreau’... and replaces the
handset, thoughtful... The phone RINGS almost immediately. He
picks it up: ‘Hello?’.
MAN (O.S.)
I met your friend earlier. You got a pen?
LOMBARD
(grabbing a pen from the bedside
table)
Go ahead.
MAN (OS)
You want Mr Friedman - 0171 435 6268. Say
you’re calling about the puppies.
LOMBARD
Friedman - 0171 435 6268. The puppies...?
MAN (O.S.)
Yeah. You saw the ad at George’s, alright.
The man has gone. Lombard dials... A few rings... a woman
answers, ‘Hello?’
LOMBARD
Can I speak to Mr Friedman?
A few clicks, as if the line is being diverted... a few rings...
then AN OLD MAN’S VOICE, with a GERMAN ACCENT: ‘Yes?’
LOMBARD
I’m calling about the puppies.
FRIEDMAN (OS)
(silence, then:)
Have we done business before?
LOMBARD
I saw the ad at George’s.
(no reply)
I’m passing through town and I’m in a
hurry.
FRIEDMAN (OS)
May I have your phone number?
LOMBARD
Why?
FRIEDMAN (O.S.)
This is a bad line.
CUT TO:
Lombard sits on the edge of the bed, lighting a Gitane, the phone
on his lap. It rings. He answers: “Yes?”
FRIEDMAN (OS)
What sort of puppy are you looking for?
LOMBARD
What sort have you got?
FRIEDMAN (OS)
Pups. Bitches. From three to twelve
months. Trained and untrained ones. White
and brown ones. You understand?
LOMBARD
(after a beat, voice calm)
Yeah.
FRIEDMAN (OS)
We also provide 24-hour after-sale
service. Were the puppy to fall sick or
accidently die, we would unburden you, you
understand?
LOMBARD
Yes... Good, good...
FRIEDMAN (OS)
So, what are you looking for?
LOMBARD
What about an untrained pup, white...
FRIEDMAN (OS)
How much of a hurry are you in?
LOMBARD
Tomorrow?
FRIEDMAN (OS)
I’m afraid the only pups currently
available at such notice are brown and
trained. But they are all very cheerful
and have been thoroughly checked for
diseases...
LOMBARD
I see. How much?
FRIEDMAN (OS)
Fifteen for a straight delivery. Twenty
with the provision of a safe place.
Visitors tend to find the second option
more convenient.
LOMBARD
... Fine. I’ll go for the safe place.
FRIEDMAN (OS)
Have the money ready by 11am. We’ll call
you.
Lombard puts the receiver down, checks... HIS WATCH: 00:10...
INT. DE MORAES DRAWING ROOM. NIGHT.
The butler, in his dressing gown, waits in the open doorway
wearily watching...
Lombard, holding a briefcase, stands staring into the cold
fireplace...
Deborah - clinging robe, eyes puffy with sleep but still made up
(she’s clearly been drinking) - comes in past the butler (who
closes the door behind her), glowers at Lombard and makes for the
sofa. In a croaking voice:
DEBORAH
I won’t comment on the time but you’ll
understand if I don’t tell you to sit
down. Now, spare me the apology and get to
the point, will you, Mr Lombard.
(she sits down and lights a cigarette)
LOMBARD
I’m afraid I have bad news, Mr De Moraes.
I have reason to believe your brother’s in
trouble.
DEBORAH
For your information, Mr Lombard, trouble
is possibly the one thing Leon is capable
of getting into all by himself. Though I
doubt he will not ultimately fail even at
that.
LOMBARD
(smiles, sighs, retaliates:)
I don’t know. He seems to delight in so
much sisterly love, he might become
determined.
DEBORAH
Oh-oh! Touché, Mr Lombard! But tell me,
what would you know about sisterly love,
eh?
(a beat, with an icy glare)
No. Don’t. You might get confused speaking
of things you don’t understand and we need
you clear- headed, at least until you’ve
done what we are paying you for.
LOMBARD
Now you are confusing me, Mrs De Moraes.
DEBORAH
Can it be that easy?
LOMBARD
Can it be that you want your brother
found?
DEBORAH
Anything is possible.
Lombard peers at her... chooses not to bother... He opens his
briefcase... throws ‘SLEEPING BEAUTY’ onto the low table in front
of her:
LOMBARD
I found this at your brother’s.
DEBORAH
(she glances at the cover, then:)
Disney! How inter...
LOMBARD
It’s a snuff movie. Prime paedophile
material. I’m told it retails at around
£4,000.
(as Deborah frowns at the tape, rigid)
I see you don’t require a definition.
DEBORAH
You... You found that at Leon’s?
LOMBARD
There’s more. Your brother also purchased
a young boy for £15,000.
Deborah looks back at him, confounded... LOST FOR WORDS for once.
LOMBARD
You seem surprised. Could it be you don’t
think that badly of him after all?
(off her silence)
You needn’t worry. It seems his motives
were pure. From what I can make out he
bought the boy to rescue him from further
abuse.
DEBORAH
What... What are you talking about?
LOMBARD
Your brother got mixed up with child
procurers and tried to make this world a
better place, Mrs De Moraes. And having
rescued one little life he unwisely set
out to repeat the exercise.
(a beat)
You don’t mess around with child
procurers. Right now my guess is he’s
either on the run, held captive, or dead.
(off her horrified frown)
I understand your misgivings, Mrs De
Moraes. But I’ve seen the boy and made
telephone contact with the man Leon bought
him from. If anyone knows what happened to
your brother it will be that man. Which
leads me to why I’m here at such a late
hour. I need £20,000, in cash, by 11 this
morning.
DEBORAH
Excuse me?
LOMBARD
I need the money to smooth my way, you
understand? Now, have you got that sort of
cash here or do we need to meet in the
morning?
Deborah stares at him, thinking hard... her amazement turns into
indignation... Lombard pre-empts what he thinks is coming:
LOMBARD
I will of course do my best to hang onto
it.
DEBORAH
Where is it?
(off his look: ‘What?’; shouting)
He. The boy you said my brother bought!
Where is he?
LOMBARD
I can’t tell you that yet. But he’s being
well looked after.
DEBORAH
Oh no. You’ll have to do better than that,
Mr Lombard.
LOMBARD
(angry)
Look, Mrs De Moraes, however much of a let
down it might be, your brother’s not back
to his old weekend tricks! Impressionable
as he is, he probably grew tired of
healthy girls in grisly poses, tried
moving on to bigger things, came upon more
than he’d bargained for and somehow
fancied he could take on the real world.
Which he no doubt chanced upon on his way
to that thing now sitting on your table...
Have a look at it, Mrs De Moraes. I told
you I had bad news...
Deborah scowls... Lombard waits, giving her time to calm down
but... It seems too much for her... She laughs nervously, looks
at the video, shakes her head:
DEBORAH
Not Leon...
IN ON Lombard; a puzzled frown...
DEBORAH
How dare you...
(a beat, eyeing the tape again)
You don’t know this tape belongs to my
brother, do you, Mr Lombard?
LOMBARD
The question now is whether or not your
brother still owns anything, Mrs De
Moraes.
DEBORAH
(glaring at him)
No. The question now is how long it’s
going to take you to get out of here, Mr
Lombard.
LOMBARD
Excuse me?
DEBORAH
Get out of my house. You’re fired, Mr
Lombard.
LOMBARD
(an angry frown... Then, calmly:)
Perhaps I should come back when you’re...
DEBORAH
(cutting in, getting to her feet)
No. You’re fired! Get out of my house. And
take your sick tape with you...
And she picks up the videotape and hurls it at him... He ducks,
turns to see... THE TAPE CRASH AGAINST THE WALL... turns back,
bemused...
Deborah now watches him in cold disdain. She calls to the door:
DEBORAH
Laurence!
LOMBARD
(peering hard at her)
I was hired by your parents, Mrs De
Moraes.
DEBORAH
The family hired you and I have just fired
you, Mr Lombard.
LOMBARD
(long beat as he looks back at her,
then:)
Why me, Mrs De Moraes? Why should such
well-connected people as you hire a small-
time French detective to look for their
missing son, Mrs De Moraes?
DEBORAH
Huh! Who do you think we are, Mr Lombard?
LOMBARD
Couldn’t Nazi hunters do the job?
Deborah sizes him up, surprised, then... To the butler in the
doorway:
DEBORAH
See Mr Lombard to the door, Laurence. He
is leaving.
Lombard peers at her, realises he won’t get anywhere now... He
holds up a hand appealing to the butler to wait, searches his
pockets, pulls out a ‘LE MERIDIAN’ MATCHBOOK, throws it on the
table and turns for the door.
LOMBARD
I’ll be in room 142 until 11am. Keep the
tape.
EXT. DE MORAES DRIVEWAY. NIGHT.
‘Merde!’ In the rain, Lombard throws his briefcase into his
Triumph.
INT. LE MERIDIAN, ROOM 142. MORNING.
THE EMPTY BRIEFCASE OPEN on the undisturbed bed... A full ashtray
by the phone and... Lombard leans against the window, smoking,
staring through rain streaked glass...
BELOW: traffic and pedestrians swarming over wet Piccadilly...
The phone rings.... Lombard turns and snatches it up: ‘YES?’
MAN’S VOICE (OS)
(with a YORKSHIRE ACCENT)
It’s about the puppy. You got the money?
LOMBARD
(a beat, he glances at the briefcase)
Yeah.
MAN’S VOICE (OS)
At what time will you be available?
LOMBARD
(glancing at his watch: 11am)
Three o’clock.
MAN’S VOICE (O.S.)
‘Le Mercury’. Newman street. Ask for
Peter.
INT. LOMBARD’S BANK. DAY.
Lombard empties his Safety Deposit Box, pockets bundles of used
£20 notes...
The box is almost empty now. Lombard looks over the remaining
items...
More money (mostly French)... AN OLD BLUE FRENCH PASSPORT...
IN ON Lombard; hurt in his eyes... He slams the box shut: CLANG!
INT. LOMBARD’S OFFICE. DAY.
Lombard reaches into the pebble bottom of his aquarium, pulls out
a flat plastic- wrapped bundle... THE DOORBELL RINGS... He shakes
the bundle dry... shoves it in a desk drawer... looks out the
window...
Through the rain: A BLUE ASTON MARTIN is doubleparked down below.
INT. FIRST FLOOR LANDING, LOMBARD’S FLAT. DAY.
Lombard stands in his doorway, looking down into...
The Stairwell: Deborah, looking rough, but in an attractive suit,
climbs the stairs... She stops on the landing, silently holds out
a Marks & Spencers bag...
Lombard takes it, glances inside: BUNDLES OF PRISTINE £50 NOTES...
DEBORAH
I still don’t buy your story but I figured
it can’t do any harm to let you go on with
your enquiry. Besides, if you do turn out
to be nothing but a cheap little
extortioner, we could always get the right
people onto you. I trust you know who I am
talking about.
LOMBARD
(grinning)
You drive a hard bargain.
Deborah opens her mouth, wavers, turns and starts down the stairs.
DEBORAH
You’ve got your money. Do your work.
INT. LOMBARD’S OFFICE. DAY.
Lombard at his desk, writing; over his shoulder we glimpse a few
words:
‘Rhian... Penrhyndeudraeth... Friedman...’
IN ON a wastepaper bin; the wrapping from the aquarium bundle...
IN ON a corner of the desk; A HANDGUN AND SILENCER...
Lombard folds the note, puts it into an envelope addressed to...
Deborah De Moraes... inserts this envelope into another
envelope...
INT. JANE’S FLAT. DAY.
A square of floor just inside Jane’s door... an envelope is slid
under the door - WE HOLD on the message scrawled on it:
‘Dear Jane, a little favour. If I’m not
back by the time you leave for work
tomorrow please send the enclosed letter
by express messenger. Xavier.’
EXT. WEST END STREET. AFTERNOON.
HEAVY RAIN. A smart, busy street lined with restaurants and
cafes... A black cab halts the traffic as it pulls up...
Lombard, with his briefcase, gets out and, as the cab drives on,
stands on the kerb, peering at...
Across the road: ‘LE MERCURY’ restaurant - elegant facade, tinted
windows. A WHITE MERCEDES sits in front; inside a YOUNG DRIVER
reads a paper.
Lombard checks his watch: 14:52.
INT. ‘LE MERCURY’. AFTERNOON.
Dim lighting. Empty tables. A MUSCLY BARMAN in a white shirt
polishes wine glasses... He looks up...
Lombard stands inside the door, eyeing across the room...
The only customer: PETER (fat, grey-hair, smart suit) looks back
at Lombard while talking into a mobile phone, a half-eaten ice
cream sundae of him.
BARMAN
We open at six.
LOMBARD
Peter?
The barman eyeballs Lombard... nods towards Peter... Lombard sends
him a stony grin and makes for...
Peter, keeping his eyes on Lombard, pockets his phone and... as
Lombard reaches his table, checks his watch.
PETER
Five to three. You’re early.
LOMBARD
Should I come back in five minutes?
IN ON Peter; he scoffs... glances at the briefcase, indicates the
seat opposite.
PETER
May I offer you a drink?
Lombard slips into the seat, putting the briefcase on the table.
LOMBARD
No. I’d like to see what I’m buying.
Peter raises his brows... then casually resumes eating his
sundae...
PETER
I gather we’ve done business with a friend
of yours?
LOMBARD
(a beat; then deadpan)
Have you?
PETER
(swallowing ice-cream, perplexed)
The person who put us in touch seems to
think so.
LOMBARD
I don’t recollect mentioning a friend.
Peter swallows more ice-cream, puts his spoon down, dabs his lips
with a napkin, reaches for the briefcase, turns it round, opens it
just enough to look inside... He shuts it again, turns it back to
Lombard and lights a cigarette.
PETER
Your lady friend did.
LOMBARD
The lady’s not a friend. She’s a whore.
(he pauses, staring at Peter)
Someone at a special screening I attended
mentioned certain goods could be got from
an Austrian here in London. And not just
movies.
Peter scrutinizes Lombard, calmly, then breaks into a smile.
PETER
And while visiting our fair city you...
(off Lombard’s look: ‘That’s right’)
An Austrian?
LOMBARD
An Austrian.
PETER
An Austrian... Not much to go on, is it?
LOMBARD
(impatiently)
Questions can amount to revelations. Now,
I’d hate to think I was made to come here
carrying a substantial amount of money in
order to be subjected to a cross-
examination. Mr Friedman led me to believe
we had a deal. Do we?
Peter eyes Lombard, takes a drag from his cigarette, peering at...
LOMBARD’S WEDDING BAND... He nods his head in agreement...
PETER
Will you be alone?
(off Lombard’s frown: ‘What?’)
The merchandise. Is it just you or...
LOMBARD
I’ll be alone.
PETER
(a beat; he grins)
You must agree to be blindfolded...
(off Lombard’s look: ‘What?’)
Just for the journey. It might appear
unseemly - you’re the paying customer -
but ordinarily clients come with some kind
of endorsement.
Lombard glances at his briefcase... Peter follows his eyes...
Lombard looks up, eyes hard... Peter gestures he is sorry but...
EXT. ‘LE MERCURY’. AFTERNOON.
RAIN. Lombard gets into the back of the Mercedes... Peter behind
him...
INT/EXT. MOVING MERCEDES/AROUND LONDON. AFTERNOON.
IN ON Lombard; tight-lipped, he looks down at...
In his hands: a deck of POLAROIDS... He shuffles them slowly...
SIX SHOTS OF SIX YOUNG BOYS, each with a number on the top left
corner; all aged between 7 and 11, all naked, all standing limply
before the same dark backdrop.
Lombard hands the polaroids to Peter without looking at him...
LOMBARD
Number six.
Peter pockets the photos, dials on his mobile...
Lombard turns to the window to watch LONDON’S RAINY STREETS pass
by... We HOLD on his grim face as...
PETER (OS)
Number six. We’re on our way...
(a beat, then, to the driver)
Stop in a quiet spot when you can, Jack...
Lombard turns... Peter is unfolding a black hood...
EXT. THE MERCEDES IS STATIONARY IN A QUIET STREET...
INT. MERCEDES. Lombard stretches out on the floor between the
front and rear seats, holding the hood... Peter, sitting in the
front now, looks back...
IN ON Lombard; he peers at Peter, then, as he puts the hood on:
LOMBARD
Drive carefully...
DISSOLVE TO BLACK as Lombard’s face disappears into the hood.
INT. ROOM 40. AFTERNOON.
IN ON Lombard (standing) as the hood is removed from his head...
MAN’S VOICE (OS)
(Yorkshire accent, as on phone
earlier)
I hope your journey wasn’t too unpleasant.
Lombard squints in the neon light... looks down...
MARTIN (burly, 50s, in shirtsleeves) sits behind a table, looking
him over.
Lombard turns to survey... AN AUSTERE, IMPERSONAL BEDROOM...
On a single bed a muscly GIANT in a tight suit sits FOLDING THE
HOOD... He greets Lombard’s gaze with a stony nod and tucks the
hood into his pocket... Lombard turns back to Martin:
LOMBARD
What happens now?
MARTIN
We conclude our transaction.
IN ON Martin; he peers at Lombard... Lombard steps forward, puts
the briefcase on the table, opens it, swivels it towards...
Martin looks inside, picks up a bundle of £50s, pulls one note
out, examines it, then proceeds to transfer the rest from
briefcase to table, saying tonelessly:
MARTIN
The room’s yours for 24 hours. It’s sound-
proofed, stocked up with food, drink and
other things you might find useful. You
can do anything you like.
LOMBARD
Anything at all?
MARTIN
Anything at all. I presume you won’t want
to take the boy with you when you’re
finished?
(he shuts the briefcase, pushes it
back towards Lombard, looks up)
There’s a £500 fee for disposal. The boy
is yours, you understand?
Lombard nods, jaw clenched... Martin’s eyes linger on him...
MARTIN
Vous êtes Français?
LOMBARD
Does it matter?
MARTIN scrutinizes Lombard a little longer, then motions towards
the Giant and turns his attention back to the money.
MARTIN
He’ll take you to the boy. Don’t forget
your briefcase.
And Martin starts counting the money, his fingers expertly racing
through the notes... Lombard turns to the giant who stands up...
INT. CORRIDOR. AFTERNOON
IN ON A GOLD NUMBER 40 as the door is slammed shut.
GIANT
This way.
And Lombard, briefcase in hand, follows the giant down a
windowless corridor, past more doors... 41... 42... 43... until...
DOOR NUMBER 46... “DO NOT DISTURB” on the handle...
The giant unlocks the door with his back to Lombard who frowns
at...
Through the giant’s tight jacket: THE LINES OF A HOLSTER STRAP...
The giant opens the door and steps aside to let Lombard through:
GIANT
I’ll lock behind you. Pick up the intercom
when you’re finished or if you need
anything, alright?
Lombard pauses, then steps into...
INT. ROOM 46, INNER CORRIDOR. AFTERNOON.
A narrow passage to a PADDED DOOR... Lombard waits as the outer
door is locked... turns to the padded door, opens it... THE SOUND
OF A BUGS BUNNY CARTOON...
INT. ROOM 46. AFTERNOON.
Lombard stands just inside the padded door, peering at...
In an armchair: BOY NUMBER 6 (T-shirt, short trousers, plimsolls)
looks back at Lombard, apprehensive but docile... ‘Bugs Bunny’ is
on the TV in front of him. Lombard raises his voice above the TV:
LOMBARD
Do you speak English?
(the boy frowns)
Français?
No reaction. Lombard sighs... scans the room... Padded walls,
mirrored ceiling, a huge bed, small drinks bar, a hifi, video
player, fridge, shelves of porn videos and literature, a dark
doorway... And the boy again, still gazing at him... Lombard
smiles, shuts the padded door and crosses to...
The dark doorway: he turns on the light; A WINDOWLESS BATHROOM.
He walks to the fridge... stocked with food and drinks...
Opens a cupboard: S&M paraphernalia, sex aids, aphrodisiacs,
tranquillizers, a still camera, video camera, etc... all neatly
stacked.
He eyes the boy again... turns to the fridge, opens it, reaches
for a chocolate bar... makes for the boy, squats and hands it to
him with a reassuring smile... The boy warily reaches for it. IN
ON Lombard as he peers with a frown into...
THE BOY’S EYES: dilated pupils - he’s obviously been sedated.
LOMBARD
(pointing to the bathroom)
You go in there. In there, yes....
The boy frowns, stands... docilely walks into the bathroom and out
of sight...
Lombard peers after him, then straightens up and follows him...
THE BATHROOM: the boy stands by the bath eyeing Lombard in the
doorway.
LOMBARD
(pointing to a stool)
It’s all right, huh. You sit down. Sit.
(the boy timidly sits down)
Good. You eat your chocolate. It’s yours.
He points at the chocolate in the boys hand, makes eating
motions... The boy doesn’t seem to want to eat... Lombard brings
his finger to his lips...
LOMBARD
You stay here and be quiet, okay. Shhh...
And he slowly and softly shuts the door.
Now Lombard switches the TV off, puts his briefcase on the bed,
picks up the intercom and, with it wedged between his shoulder and
ear, pulls his handgun and a silencer from his pocket and calmly
starts screwing one onto the other.
LOMBARD
There’s no toilet paper.
(pause)
There’s no toilet paper.
(pause again)
Uh-huh. I’m sure. And hurry, will you.
CUT TO:
Lombard stands behind the open padded door, gun at the ready, a
cigarette between his lips, listening... The outer door is being
unlocked... slams shut... footsteps... The giant steps in with a
pack of toilet rolls: ‘Here’s the...’
Lombard sticks the gun into the nape of his neck and kicks the
door shut.
LOMBARD
On the bed!
GIANT
(bemused, turning)
What...?
Lombard whacks him across the face with the gun, shoves him
hard... The giant drops the toilet rolls, stumbles back onto the
edge of the bed... He puts his hands to his face, takes them away -
they’re red with blood from his nose.
GIANT
Jesus...
He starts to rise, furious, reaching under his jacket... Lombard
sends him back down with another crack across the face...
LOMBARD
Where is the Austrian?
GIANT
You... Fuck you!
Lombard aims at one of the giant’s knees, SHOOTS... THE GIANT’S
LEG JERKS, FALLS STILL... The giant gapes at his knee.
LOMBARD
You’re not playing with little boys now,
scumbag. Where is the Austrian?
GIANT
Jee... Fuck... You’re fucking mad!
Lombard SHOOTS HIS OTHER KNEE... Stunned - though still showing no
pain - the giant gapes at the blood cascading onto his polished
shoes... looks up:
GIANT
Who are you?
LOMBARD
(aiming the gun at the giant’s crotch)
Where is the Austrian? Is Friedman the
Austrian?
GIANT
(grabbing his crotch)
Yes. Friedman’s the fuckin’ Austrian!
LOMBARD
Where is he?
GIANT
I don’t know. He’s gone!
(Lombard slaps him)
He’s gone. I don’t fucking know where, I
swear... He’s gone. On holiday...
LOMBARD
...On holiday?
GIANT
Yeah... This morning. He left this fucking
bloody morning... Jesus, man, my knees...
And the giant begins to sob with his trembling hands suspended in
mid-air above his knees... Lombard watches him, thoughtful, then:
LOMBARD
Who’s the money man?
GIANT
Who?
(Lombard aims at his crotch again)
Martin... He’s Martin...
Lombard pulls out the SNAPSHOT OF LEON - with Rhian torn off, only
her arm around Leon’s waist visible.
LOMBARD
Ever seen him before?
GIANT
(he peers at the snapshot)
No... No...
(off Lombard’s look: ‘Are you sure?’)
I swear...
LOMBARD
What’s this place? A hotel of some kind?
GIANT
Yeah... The Diplomat.
LOMBARD
Where?
GIANT
What?
LOMBARD
Where are we?
GIANT
Finsbury Park. We’re in Finsbury Park.
LOMBARD
Where are the kids?
GIANT
What kids?
LOMBARD
There were six on offer, you scumbag.
Where are the other five?
GIANT
I don’t know...
(Lombard whacks him across the face)
This is just a delivery place, man! I
swear I don’t know where the kids are... I
work for Martin, that’s all. Martin knows.
He works for Friedman. He knows...
LOMBARD
And who does Friedman work for?
GIANT
The company. We all work for the company.
LOMBARD
What company?
GIANT
I don’t know. I don’t know, man. I don’t
even know Friedman that well... I...
(he stares at his bloody knees again)
Man, you’ve got to get me out of here...
LOMBARD
How many of you scumbags are here?
GIANT
Just me...
(off Lombard’s look)
Martin’s gone back to the Ambassador.
Look...
LOMBARD
What’s the Ambassador?
GIANT
Another hotel. Down the road. Martin lives
there. He took your money. He’s got a
safe...
(staring at his bleeing knees again)
I need a doctor...
LOMBARD
What about the staff?
(off the giant’s look:’What about
them?’)
They’re in on what’s going on, aren’t
they? How many of them?
GIANT
F-five. The Wilsons and their three kids.
They run the place. Look, man, I’ve got to
get to...
Lombard knocks him out with a gun blow to the back of the head...
INT. CORRIDOR. AFTERNOON.
ROOM 40... Gun at the ready, Lombard knocks at the door... No
answer. He tries the handle; it’s locked... He frowns, thinks,
turns towards...
INT. SEQUENCE. STAIRWELL/CORRIDORS. AFTERNOON.
Stairwell. Lombard hurries down the stairs, hand gripping his gun,
reaches...
A SIGN: ‘SECOND FLOOR’... DULL SOUND OF TELEVISION from behind a
door. Lombard goes on down the stairs... ‘FIRST FLOOR’... VOICES
drift up from the lobby... Lombard listens... The voice of a YOUNG
GIRL is drowned by a loud DRUNK IRISH MAN...: ‘Because I’m telling
you, woman. I’ll be home next Sunday...’ Lombard turns, looks
back along...
The corridor: at the end, A WINDOW shows cold twilight... He makes
for it...
THROUGH THE WINDOW: in heavy rain, cars crawl in their headlights
along the dark expanse of FINSBURY PARK...
INT. ROOM 46. AFTERNOON.
Lombard squats over the groaning giant (now tied to a radiator, A
POOL OF BLOOD around his legs), searching him... He tosses the
giant’s gun away, disregards his wallet, mobile phone... finds THE
ROOM KEY - pockets it - and KEYS ON A BMW KEYRING. He examines
them... pockets them... stands, kicks the giant...
The giant groans... opens dazed eyes to see... LOMBARD’S SHOES
STANDING ON THE BLOOD SOAKED CARPET...
LOMBARD
What colour is your car?
(off the giant’s dazed look: ‘Huh?’)
What colour is your car?
GIANT
B-Black...
LOMBARD
Where is it?
GIANT
Downstairs... At the front... Jesus...
The giant looks up, hopefully... Lombard knocks him out again with
the gun...
THE BATHROOM: boy #6 still sits with his untouched chocolate
bar...
INT. CORRIDORS/STAIRWELLS/LOBBY. THE DIPLOMAT.
IN ON LOMBARD’S BLOODY SHOE stepping onto the corridor carpet...
STAIRWELL: Lombard, his gun in one hand - concealed beneath the
raincoat over his arm - his briefcase and the boy’s arm in the
other hand, hurries down the stairs towards the SOUND OF MUFFLED
VOICES from below...
He tugs the boy past the ‘SECOND FLOOR’ sign and on down the
stairs...
SOUND OF A DOOR OPENING and LAUGHTER below... Lombard stops,
tightens his grip on the gun, peers over the bannister...
FIRST FLOOR CORRIDOR: AN EMBRACING YOUNG COUPLE steps into the
stairwell and starts slowly down, exchanging kisses and
pleasantries...
Lombard frowns, glances at the boy, decides to... He picks up the
boy, sits him on his arm, and hurries down after...
The couple... Lombard slows, follows close behind them as they
near the lights and noise of the lobby, eyeing over their heads...
AN ORDINARY 2 STAR HOTEL LOBBY. A DRUNK leans against the wall
with a bag at his feet... Beyond, at THE DESK, by a flickering
TV, a PRETTY RECEPTIONIST is giving directions to TWO MEN bent
over an ‘A to Z’. Further, a WOMAN shakes her wet umbrella by the
glass front door...
The couple skirt the drunk... Lombard follows, speeding up... He
catches up with the couple as... The man puts his room key onto
the desk without stopping... As the receptionist looks up and
smiles mechanically, Lombard hurries ahead... past the couple...
past the umbrella girl and...
EXT. THE DIPLOMAT/STREETS, FINSBURY PARK. DUSK.
...Out, into POURING RAIN. Hugging the boy to him, Lombard turns
right outside the door and hurries away... He looks back over his
shoulder just once before... He turns the corner... Crosses the
road... Strides past shops... Turns another corner... stops and,
pocketing his gun, searches the street... Sees...
EXT. BUS SHELTER. DUSK.
TWO WOMEN wait for a bus... IN ON WOMAN #1: an instinctive smile
as... IN ON WOMAN #2: a frown as... Lombard steps into the shelter
still hugging the boy... He returns woman #1’s smile, puts the boy
down, scrutinizes him...
The boy stands in his plimsolls, wet and shivering, clasping his
sodden chocolate bar to his chest, staring at the ground...
LOMBARD
Qu’est-ce que je vais faire de toi, hein?
He turns to... Woman #1’s smile has gone; she stares at the boy
with a worried scowl... Feel |
The
first Lombard novel - The Lost Son - on which the film was based, remains FREE TO DOWNLOAD via this site (click
The
second Lombard novel was published
in 2006. They didn't make a movie of it - they couldn't -
but if you enjoy the script below, and wish "to support the writer", you can always
