"25 Hours" movie script

"25 Hours" Movie Play

Text / (US) David Benioff
Translator / Chen Ming

Location, West Side Highway, at night
A black dog sleeps on the isolation belt, its head lies between its palms, its body He leaned against the barricades that separated the north and the south, curled up and lay down.
Vehicles rumbled past it: yellow cabs, blue police cars, large white limousines with stained glass and Jersey steel.
At this point we heard a sudden screeching of brakes. A black Model 65 Ford Mustang bearing the manufacturer's logo drove over the divider and backed up after about 10 yards past the black dog. The black dog raised his head alertly.
Two men got out of the car. The driver was Monty Brogan, about 25 years old, pale in the flickering lights. Around his neck was a silver chain, with a small silver-plated cross hanging from it, and several silver rings on his fingers.
The driver was Kosteya Nowotny, a hulking man in his 30s who was blowing his nose with a handkerchief.
It's a cold night. Monty was wearing a camel-hair coat, and Kostya was wearing an old blue Soviet navy coat.
Monty: It's still alive.
Kostya (Ukrainian accent): What kind of dog is this?
Monty: Bulldog, but it must have made someone lose money.
They looked at the dog.
Costea: What did they do? Monty, wait for it to rot?
Monty: I was thinking of shooting it.
Costea: Kill it? Are you sick?
The dog was still staring blankly at them, its face illuminated by passing headlights. The pavement beside it's claws is littered with randomly discarded broken glass, twisted metal scraps, and scrapped black tire rubber.
Monty: They left it here to die. They left it on the side of the road from the car.
A steamship from the Hudson honked its whistle.
Costea: Come on, man, it's too cold in here. Let's go, everyone is waiting for us!
Monty: They're all used to it.
Monty crouched down beside the black dog and began to observe it carefully. From this angle, it was clear that the bulldog had been brutally abused. One ear had been bitten off, the fur was scalded by cigarette butts, and flies were crawling up and down its bloody fur.
MONTY (continued): I think maybe its ass--
suddenly the black dog swoops up, grins its jaw, and swoops into Monty's face. Monty stumbled backwards, and the dog was too badly injured to continue the attack, but still snarled and remained crouched.
Monty sat on the sidewalk and shook his head.
MONTY (continued): God! It can also bite!
Costea: I don't think the dog wants to play with you. Come on, do you want to call the police? Do you want the police to search your car?
Monty: Look what they did to it, it's just littering like soot.
Monty stood up and patted the dust on his trousers with the palm of his hand.
MONTY (continued): Carry it into the trunk.
Costea: What?
Monty: There's a pet hospital on the Eastside, and I like this guy.
Costea: Do you like it? It wants to bite off your face. Look at him, this is a dead dog, if you like dogs, I will give you a puppy tomorrow.
Monty didn't listen at all, walked back to the car, opened the trunk, and dragged out a greasy green military blanket.
Costea (holds him): Wait! (continues) Wait a minute, would you please wait a minute? I don't want to touch this dog, Monty, I don't touch it.
Monty wraps his arms around the back of the dog --
Monty: It's a good dog, I can see that in his eyes. It's a little bastard with personality!
Costea: Sometimes I think you're very stupid.
The dog was already lying on the pavement again, breathing a little short, but its eyes were always on the two men in front of him.
Monty: It's been here too long and it's going to die.
Costea: You were going to shoot it a minute ago!
Monty: That's merciful euthanasia, but it doesn't want to die yet!
Costea: Really? what does it tell you?
Monty pounced slowly behind the dog, holding the blanket like a matador waving a cape.
Monty: To distract it.
Costea looked at his friend hesitantly, then lowered his head to find a shriveled soda can at his feet and kicked it away.
The dog's head turned with the flash of the aluminum can.
Monty threw the blanket on it and quickly pulled it up, hugging the dog tightly. The dog barked, hissed at the blanket, and tried to stick his head out.
Monty staggered to his Mustang, holding on to the bulldog in his arms. Just as they stumbled to the car, the dog broke free from the blanket and bit Monty's throat hard.
Monty threw the dog into the trunk with force, closed the lid, and returned to the driver's seat.
Costea looked at him silently, sighed again, and finally got into the car, leaving the dog fluttering in the trunk.

INT, Bronco The
two remain silent as Monty starts the engine. Blood flowed from the wound on the right side of Monty's neck.
Costea: What's going on in your little head?
Monty smiled slightly. He didn't notice that he was bleeding.
Monty: I got it, didn't I? Aren't you surprised I got it done so quickly?
Monty looked at the road and drove the car back to the highway again.
Costea: Yes, you are fast enough.
He pointed to the wound on Monty's neck that was starting to bleed—
Costea (continued): Meanwhile, you're bleeding!
Monty: That's dog blood.
Costea: Really? It's because you have a hole in your neck and blood comes out of the hole.
Monty raised his hand and felt the blood on his neck --
Monty: It'll be sutured by the vet.
Costea: Remember a rule, don't mess with half-dead bulldogs, someone is waiting for us with money, and you want to play cowboy on the road, no, it should be paparazzi!
Monty laughed, pressing his hand lightly on the side of his neck, blood seeping from between his fingers.
Costea (continued): Yes, hey, you're a mortal star who always brings bad luck to me. We all have bad luck in everything, bad luck! Why do I always come out with you, no, no, it's you, me, and Mr. Doyle in Doyle's Law.
Monty frowned --
Monty: Doyle's Law? You mean Murphy's Law.
Costea: Who is Murphy?
Monty: Who is Doyle? Murphy's Law is that when it's going to go wrong, it's going to go wrong.
Costea: Yes, that's him.

Location, East River shore, Dawn
subtitles: After four years of
Monty sat on a park bench overlooking the East River. He snuffed out one cigarette, took another from the pack, and lit it.
The black bulldog, now healthy and well nourished, crouches beside Monty. The white vapor rising from the warm breath of the dog tells us that it is winter.
Two coolly dressed young men in sweatshirts with hoods and leather jackets, one of whom also leads a Rottweiler dog with a spiked collar.
Doyle (the bulldog's current name) barked, Monty dragged his collar hard, and Doyle muttered and gradually quieted down.
One of the young men: How's it going, Monty?
Monty nodded but said nothing. He was concentrating on the scene in front of him, staring at the green river, the steel bridge, the red tugboat, and the stone lighthouse on Roosevelt Island.
Doyle's cry brought Monty back to his senses, and it was Simon, a scrawny man in his 30s who was approaching them. He was wearing knee-high rain boots and a long, dirty yellow leather jacket.
Simon: Stop barking, Doyle, stop barking, puppy. How are you, Monty?
Monty looked back at the river, and Doyle cried again.
Simon (continued): You're going to let the dog relax, hey, Doyle, darling!
Doyle tightened the leash in Monty's hand, sniffing Simon suspiciously.
Simon (continued): I don't think your dog likes me.
Monty: Come on, Simon.
Simon: I'm addicted again. I got up an hour ago with a drug addiction.
Monty: There's nothing I can do. Go to 100th Street and Tenth Avenue.
Simon: 100th Street and Tenth Avenue? Don't make trouble, I won't go.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of five-dollar bills tied together with rubber straps.
Monty (angrily): Put it away.
Doyle called again, and Simon took the money back into his pocket.
Simon: Okay, okay, I just wanted to say, I'm not here to beg you for alms.
Monty: I quit.
Simon pointed to the row of scars on his throat -
Simon: I scratched myself when I shave this morning, four scars! My hands have been shaking. Okay, alright, Monty, I can't go to Harlem, look at me, they'll eat me raw!
Monty finally got up and walked towards Simon, getting closer and closer until their faces were only inches apart -
Monty: Leave me alone for a while, buddy. I said, I'm quitting.
Doyle sniffed Simon's boots, then raised his head and licked his leg with his mouth. Simon jumped back half a step, trying to keep his distance from the bulldog so as not to provoke it.
Simon: Are you afraid I'll go to the police and tell the police? You know me.
Monty: You didn't hear me, I got caught, game over.
Simon blinked, trying to force a smile. He looked back and saw Doyle sniffing at his hand.
Simon: For five years, I've been getting goods from you. Alright, alright, I'll go. You don't have to feel sick.
Monty and Doyle watched the man walk away, and they started walking in opposite directions. They crossed concrete paths, sand, and stopped for a while on the basketball court.
Six poorly-skilled kids are playing their pre-school game. Monty looked at a little guy excitedly passing the ball and shook his head contemptuously --
Monty: You should go left.
The little guy was dribbling to the right and missed a good shot. Monty spit and moved on, with Doyle leading the way.

EXT. Campbell-Sawyer High School - Later
Monty visits the old private school along Leaf Street on the Upper East Side.
Two tenth grade girls glanced at Monty as they passed by, the way people always looked at him.
The girls flicked their long cigarette butts before entering the school.

CAMPBELL-SAWYER HIGH SCHOOL
Monty walks down the hallway of the school building with Doyle by his side. The students, eager to run to their classrooms, looked at Doyle and then at Monty.
The bell for class rang, and the hallway became empty in an instant. Monty stood in front of a row of photo columns, examining a photo and smiling.

The camera zooms in on
this photo of the Campbell-Sawyer High School basketball team. The players and their coach stand in a circle, and the camera consciously advances to a face, that is 16-year-old Monty, free and pure.
The camera continued to advance, and the black and white face became blurred.
Administrator: Excuse me, sir, would you like to help?
Monty regained his senses from his thoughts. The administrator in front of him was probably in his 50s. He was tall and looked a little scary. At this time, he was squinting at him through his glasses.
Monty: What?
Admin: Is there anything I can do to help?
Monty (smiling): No, no.
Admin: Dogs are not allowed in the school.
Monty: Well... (points to the photo) I used to study here.
Admin: I mean let you take the dog away.
Monty (still looking at the photo): You see, I was a kid at the time.
The administrator bent down and looked sideways at the photo.
Admin: I guess you are not a central defender.
Monty: Haha, it's a point guard. I joined the school team in my first year, and I hold the record for the most assists in a single game.
Admin: No, Marvin Rey broke that record last year.
Monty looked at her. She shrugs --
Admin (continued): I'm the women's coach.
Monty turns back to look at the picture -
Monty: We were invincible in those days.
Admin: Really?
Monty: Until I got kicked out of school, and they've been on a tear since then. Where is Jacob Ilinsky?
Administrator: Probably in his classroom, room 301.
Monty: Thank you.
He walked away with Doyle, then turned back a moment later.
Monty: Marvin Rey?
Admin: It's him.
Monty: Are you sure?
Admin: I was there when he broke the record.
Monty nodded and walked away. The caretaker watched Monty and his dog walk down the long hallway.


CAMPBELL-SAWYER HIGH SCHOOL CLASSROOM Jacob Ilinsky stands in front of the blackboard, facing the faces of three rows of lifeless students. He was wearing a fat tweed jacket with some chalk dust on the sleeves.
Jacob was the same age as Monty, but he looked younger. The way he bit his lip always gave off an adolescent slack.
A student named Mary is standing at the desk reading poetry from the textbook. She had heavy eyeshadow on her lids, her hair was dyed black, and she had rose tattoos on her wrists.
MARY (reading aloud): Let us use all our enthusiasm and all our sweet, joyful power to break through the locked heart.
Jacob looked at her. We don't know the school's dress code for students, but we can guess that she must be breaking the rules. We can also feel Jacob looking at her with a hint of greed.
Her ringed belly button is clearly visible under the women's T-shirt.
MARY (reading): Don't let the sun stop, let it burn violently.
Mary shrugged and sat down.
Jacob: Good, good, great read. So what do you think? What happen to you guys?
No one spoke. Jacob nodded--
Jacob: Well... at
this moment a bald boy with a goatee and a somewhat melancholy appearance raised his hand.
Jacob: Luke?
Luke: Can I go to the bathroom?
Jacob: No, you just went there 20 minutes ago.
Luke: But my bladder is inflamed.
Jacob: The poem, hey! We are talking about this poem!
Mary: The poem is not profound at all. This guy wants to have sex with a woman and keeps trying to persuade her to obey.
Some students began to giggle absentmindedly.
Then a knock on the door frees Jacob from his hell. He answered the door and opened the door, only to be stunned by the door.
This is the kind of door that is common in school buildings, with glass windows reinforced with iron grilles on the upper part, allowing people to see the inside of the classroom without disturbing others.
At this moment Doyle was sticking out his tongue and staring at Jacob in the window.
MARY (continuing): Luke, I know your mom isn't here today.
Luke: Eat me!
Jacob opened the door.
Monty stood at the door holding Doyle. Doyle broke free from his master's arms and rushed towards Jacob, almost knocking the teacher to the ground, and stroking Jacob's clothes with his dirty claws.
Monty: Come on, Doyle.
Doyle calmed down immediately, squatting next to Jacob and watching him.
Jacob: Hey, look, who is this?
Jacob nervously and awkwardly stepped forward and hugged Monty.
Monty (looking at Doyle): Look, it likes you.
Jacob looked at Doyle, who was wagging his tail now.
MONTY (continues): It does like you, so what are you doing?
Jacob looked back at his class. The students were all staring at Monty and his dog, quiet for the first time.
Jacob (to Monty): Teaching, I think!
Monty: Pretty cool. (to students inside) Hey, how are you!
Several students waved their hands shyly.
MONTY (to Jacob) Sorry to bother you. Listen, plans have changed, someone wants to throw me a farewell party downtown at night, you and Frank meet up somewhere, and then I'll pick you up.
Jacob was a little flustered by the meeting, but he knew the students were watching him.
Jacob: All right.
Monty moved closer to Jacob.
MONTY (whispering): The one in the crop top is winking at me.
Jacob turned around and found that Mary was staring at them, then turned back and saw Monty who was smiling at Mary, and hurriedly grabbed the doorknob—
Jacob: Well, see you then.
Monty: Tell Frank we'll see you after midnight.
When Monty walked away with Doyle, Jacob closed the door and turned to look at the silent classroom. At this time, the bell rang for the end of get out of class, and the students dispersed in a hurry.

TEACHER'S LOUNGE - LATER ALONE
Jacob in the room, sitting on the sofa, resting his head in his hands. There was a knock on the door, and Jacob looked up.
Mary poked her head in—
Mary: Do you have time?
Jacob stood up and smiled.
Jacob: Of course, please come in.
Mary: I thought students weren't allowed in the teachers' lounge.
Jacob: I'm not going to tell you.
Mary came in, looking around suspiciously. Jacob points to a chair -
Jacob (continued): Please take a seat.
Mary sat down.
Jacob (continued): So, what's the matter?
Mary: Who is that guy who came to see you in class today?
Jacob: You mean Monty? An old friend of mine who also graduated from here.
Mary: He doesn't look like you.
Jacob: Actually, I have a lot of friends who don't look like me.
Mary: No, I mean he doesn't look like someone in your circle of friends.
Jacob: We grew up together. (Pause) How can I help you?
Mary: I wonder why I only got a "B+" for my essay?
Jacob: Well, first of all—
Mary: The rest of the class can't write at all, you know that, why did you get me...
Jacob: Leave the others alone.
Mary: Vince Misklar wrote a story about the death of his grandmother, and you gave him an A? why? A merciful A? Everyone writes that their grandmother died, not because they miss their loved ones, but because it guarantees an A. You're always so emotional, saying, "Oh, Vince, you write so powerfully, so movingly." Not so! You don't care, I don't care, no one cares. That's how grandmothers are, they're dead.
Mary kept talking and Jacob looked at her admiringly.
Jacob: What did your mother say when you got that thing?
Mary looked at him puzzled.
Mary: What? When did I get what?
Jacob (pointing to her wrist): That tattoo.
Mary: She said, where did you get the money for this?
Jacob: Oh, and then what?
Mary: Then what did I say, or did I get the money from?
Jacob: I think what did you say?
Mary: I said it's free.
Jacob: Really?
Mary: No, why do you care so much?
Jacob: Just curious.
Mary: So will you change my grades?
Jacob: No, I'm not going to change, I'd love to discuss it with you—
Mary yanks the bag on the ground and slaps it on her shoulder—
Mary: Well, what a waste of my time .
Jacob: Look, don't care so much about your grades, let's get to some real--
Mary (mumbles): Go to hell!
Mary stomped out of the teachers' lounge, her black military boots clanging on the linoleum floor.
Jacob shook his head, glanced at the clock: nine-fifteen, and grabbed the phone on the coffee table.

INT - Shreve Zimmer Investment Bank, at the same time as the previous scene
Frank Slattery, also twenty-five or sixteen, was staring at a row of clocks on the far wall. Under each wall clock are marked Tokyo, Hong Kong, Frankfurt, London and other words. The clock marked New York read exactly nine-fifteen.
It was a large business room, with rows of stockbrokers sitting at their computers, delivering messages into the telephone receivers in quick, cryptic language. A place without women is so noisy and smells like gunpowder.
Slattery looked like a standard collegiate wrestler: a thin neck, a slightly sunken nose, strong muscles, hair tucked back from his forehead, eyes set deep under thick, curved brows.
Then his phone rang, and Slattery began to answer—
Slattery: Frank Slattery.
He listened for a while.
Slattery (continued): It's not convenient to answer now, the new unemployment numbers are out.

TEACHER 'S LOUNGE, CONTINUED SCENE JACOB:
Well, just to tell you about Monty -

INT, SHRIFE ZIMER INVESTMENT BANK,
CONTINUED SCENE Slattery: I'll call you later .
He hung up the phone and turned to stare at the computer screen in front of him. It was obvious that he was waiting for something, and he was very excited.
Lichter: Will you go out with us later?
Slattery looked at his boss, Ali Licht, a stocky and gracious man in his late forties.
Slattery: Oh, I have some friends tonight.
Lichter: An important date?
This remark clearly made Slattery a little uncomfortable.
Slattery: Pretty much a farewell party.
Lichter: Listen, one more thing, do you still have those stocks in your hands?
Slattery: What's the matter? What's there to be nervous about?
Lichter: That's not good, unemployment claims have been falling for three weeks.
Slattery: Does everyone think that means higher employment rates?
Lichter: Everyone thinks so because it's a fact.
Slattery: Not this time.
Lichter: Frank--
Slattery: I have a theory.
Lichter: Oh, great, you have a theory, you're always pretending to be high, and you've put sixty million in it --
Slattery: One hundred million.
The news frightened Lichter --
Lichter: One hundred million? God! frank.
Slattery: They authorized me to invest 100 million.
The agent sitting nearby had noticed the quarrel, and Licht had to keep his voice down—
Licht: That was a week ago. They relaxed the limit a week ago, but you've gone too far.
Slattery: Let me tell you, the unemployment numbers are still coming down, 140,000 or 135,000.
Lichter: Sell half of your stock, you hear me? You're doing a great job, everyone knows that, but I'm still your boss, and I'm telling you: sell those stocks.
Licht put his hand on Slattery's shoulder, and after a while walked to his office (it was a separate office with walls and doors), greeting the agents on both sides along the way.
Phelan, a young man who had just graduated from college, walked to the broker's office with a stack of faxes in his hand, which he distributed to all the brokers. He gave Slattery a copy, but Slattery just glanced at it. Just crumpled it.
Phelan: Solomon predicts 280,000 unemployed.
Slattery: Fuck it Solomon!
Phelan: To its Solomon Brothers?
Slattery: They're trying to win, and they want everyone on their side.
Phelan: So what's up with the rising unemployment?
Slattery doesn't want to discuss the subject--
Slattery: High employment rates mean only a small number of people are looking for work, right? That means it's hard for companies to find the ideal people to work, which means that to get the right people you have to raise your salary, and then inflation will happen, you know?
Phelan (unintelligible): Yes.
Slattery frowned --
Slattery: You're wearing a twill shirt and a twill tie.
Phelan looked down at his tie --
Phelan: Yes, isn't that bad?
Slattery: You get dizzy like that. move.
Phelan walked away, straightening his tie nervously.
Marcuse glanced at the notice board in front of Slattery. He had combed hair, red suspenders, and a smirk on his face. He looked like one of those professional managers who knew Gordon Gecko sign language.
Marcuse: Better hurry up, baby.
Slattery didn't say anything, just pounded on his computer keyboard angrily.
Marcuse (continued) I didn't see you pick up the phone, didn't Licht tell you to sell those stocks? Heard it seems like your allowance has been cut.
Slattery wiped his nostrils and pretended not to hear the insult.
Marcuse (continued): Do you want to disobey orders?
Slattery turns his roller office chair while watching Marcuse --
Slattery: Did I come into your bedroom to tell you how to have sex with your wife?
Marcuse curled his lips, and then called another agent——
Marcuse: Hey, Schultz, how many people are unemployed now?
SCHULTZ (shouting at the table): About twenty-five, twenty-seven thousand.
Marcuse sat down and disappeared behind the partition. Slattery glared at his desk. He grabbed the phone and put the receiver to his ear, but didn't dial the number.
Licht came out of the office and called Slattery—
Licht: Slattery, is everything okay?
Slattery nodded and gave a thumbs up. As soon as Licht entered the office, Slattery put down the phone.
Marcuse sticks his head out of the partition again--
Marcuse: It's a good thing to sell those stocks, it looks like a lot.
The trading room fell into a strange silence for an instant. All attention is focused on the TV screen hanging from the ceiling. There was no sound from the monitor, only the close-up subtitles appeared at the bottom of the screen.
Every monitor was tuned to the same channel, and the Economic Channel was broadcasting the latest unemployment figures. An announcer in a tie reads the data.
Slattery bowed his head, clasped his clasped hands between his legs, and closed his eyes. For a long time, the house was silent.
Then, a commotion of yelling and roaring filled the floor. Everyone cried out at the same time. We can only hear a word or two of it -
Broker A: Stop selling! Stop selling!
Agent B: This time I lost a lot!
Slattery looked up at the nearest monitor. A row of white numbers appeared on a blue background: 138112. All the monitors in the house were showing the same number.
Slattery looked at his computer monitor, which also displayed the number in the largest window: 138112.
Slattery raised his eyebrows. He conjured up the fax that he had crumpled a few minutes earlier, and threw it at Marcus, who was sitting in the other compartment.
Marcuse: Go away, Slattery.
Slattery laughed, then leaned back on the chair with his hands behind his head.

EXT. Monty's residence, late afternoon
in a four-story apartment on a quiet side street in New York City. Natalel Rosario is sitting on the doorstep reading a book.
Natalelle was in her early 20s and had the thin body of a track athlete. Although it was cold outside, she didn't seem to care. She closed the book and stood up when she saw Monty approaching—
Natalelle: How long have you two guys been together? You were gone when I woke up at 7.
Monty, who was rummaging in his pocket for the keys, answered with only a kiss. Natalelle closed her eyes and tried to hug him, but Monty ended the kiss abruptly and climbed the steps.
Doyle wagged its tail.
NATALELLE (continued) How are you, Mr. Doyle?
She bent down to feel the hair behind its once wounded ear.
Monty: Why are you waiting here?
Natalelle: I'm reading here. The weather is nice today.
Monty smiles --
Monty: Of course it's a good day.
He opened the door for her and Doyle.
Monty closed the door behind Natalelle and Doyle and locked it. The door has five locks and a strong latch.
Although the security setup is a bit ominous, it's still a decent studio apartment with hardwood floors and tall hanging windows facing the affluent area at the foot of the street.
A row of black-and-white photographs hangs on the wall documenting the blue sky of Manhattan, the Bensonhurst area and Doyle. The largest shot hanging above the sofa is the Brogan Bar.
Doyle curled up by the fireplace and soon fell asleep. Monty sat on the sofa and turned on the TV with the remote.
Weather Announcer: The first severe cold storm is coming—
Monty turns off the TV and stares at the dead screen. Natalelle came out of the kitchen with a jar of honey and a spoon.
She handed the honey to Monty and asked him to open it. She sat beside Monty eating honey and kept looking at him, and Monty looked at her as well.
Monty: What's wrong?
Natalelle: What are you thinking?
Monty: What am I thinking?
He leaned forward slightly, revealing a handcrafted leather holster behind him, with the initial "B" for Brogan in it, like an old Brooklyn Dodgers logo.
In the holster is a recoil-type black pistol with a caliber of 40mm. Monty threw the holster on the coffee table and stroked the "B" with his fingers. Natalelle stared at the gun.
Monty: I want to be able to walk through walls like Supergirl in X-Men.
He was still stroking the "B" with his fingers.
Monty: If I can't do that, if I can't get through the wall, then I'll slam myself through the upper teeth and all problems will be solved.
Natalelle pats him on the shoulder—
Natalelle: Don't be kidding like that.
Monty: You think I'm joking?
Natalelle: So what are we going to do tonight before you kill yourself?
Monty leaned back, his arms resting loosely on the sofa cushions.
Monty: Boss threw a party for me at the Velvet Bar.
Natalelle: I thought you had nothing to do with them.
Monty: That's about it.
He watched her take another mouthful of honey.
MONTY (continued): It's a bad habit.
She leaned forward and kissed Monty on the lips.
Natalelle: Come take a shower with me.
Monty: Not now.
She kissed Monty's chin, but Monty was so indifferent that his thoughts had turned elsewhere.
She put the honey jar on the table and walked out of the living room. Monty heard her go into the bathroom and turn on the faucet.
He heard the sound of running water.
(Toggle) MONTY'S

BATHROOM, 6
MONTHS ago In the cramped tub, Natalelle sits on Monty's lap. Monty was massaging her shoulders. The radio on the window sill sent beautiful music.
Natalelle was laughing happily because of what Monty said. And Monty pressed against her, kissing the skin behind her neck and ears. She stretched her back and stretched one leg out of the bathtub.
He stroked her legs from top to bottom and suddenly stopped! Found the tattoo of the Puerto Rico flag on her ankle; she
followed his line of sight to see the tattoo, and hurriedly acted like a spoiled child—Natalelle: Not anymore.
Monty: You were born and raised in the United States, but you only went on vacation to Puerto Rico twice. Why do this? Am I going to have an Irish flag tattooed on my butt because my grandparents are from Ireland?
Natalelle: You, you have nowhere to pierce the Irish flag on your ass.
Monty reached under her in the warm water and pinched her ass. Natalelle screamed in a hurry and Monty laughed -
Monty: It would be great if we had kids.
A loud knock on the door disturbed them, they looked at each other, and Doyle cried in another room.
Natalelle got out of the bathtub, put on a bathrobe, and went to open the door. Monty was listening quietly, he knew who was coming. He stared at the open window of the bathroom.

monty's living room, still flashback to
Monty walking into the living room wearing only a pair of shorts. Four heavily armed narcotics officers were already waiting for him.
Doyle pricked up his ears and watched those people nervously, and Monty scratched its head to relax it.
Natalelle looked at Monty in panic, still holding on to the door that was already open.
Monty: Close the door, honey.
She closed the door.
Executive Broowski: Are you Monty Brogan?
Monty: Yes.
Burowski opened the briefcase, took out a piece of paper and handed it to Monty. Monty glanced.
Executor Broowski: I'm Executor Broowski, who is in charge of the anti-drug case. We are authorized to search your apartment.
Burowski walked over to the sofa and sat down, while the other three executives patrolled the room. One is looking out the window, one is flipping through the magazines on the coffee table, the other is staring at the picture on the wall--
Executive Cunningham: You took this picture?
Monty: Yes.
Executive Cunningham: Well done.
When an executive approached Doyle, the little guy called out immediately, and the executive backed away in fright.
Monty: Doyle, relax.
Executive Broowski: Why not keep the dog on a leash?
Monty: He doesn't have to wear chains indoors.
Executive Broowski: It better be quiet or I'll beat it up. I've seen quite a few people get bitten by this little bastard.
Monty whispered to Doyle to come to him, leaned down and stroked Doyle's neck.
Natalel was a little embarrassed because she was only wearing a bathrobe, so she walked towards the bedroom.
Executive Broowski (continued): Are you Miss Rosario? I need you to stand still.
He winked at her.
Executive Broowski (continued): You can't just walk around.
Natalelle had to stand against the wall, she hoped that Monty would give her a hint, but the other party did not respond.
It doesn't look like these people are in a hurry to search.
Executive Broowski (continued): Ha!
He stared at the sofa he was sitting on—
Executive Broowski (continued): This sofa is not very comfortable.
Monty stared at the executive and let out a breath. He turned his head and began to look closely at Natalelle.
Executive Officer Cunningham: Maybe because of how you sit, posture is very important.
Executive Broowski: No, it's the sofa, it's a little bumpy.
Monty: Don't worry about that.
Executive Broowski: I really don't understand. This sofa looks really good, how much did you spend on it? Miss Rosario?
Executive Broowski stood up and looked down at the cushions of the sofa. Monty always looked at Natalele, but at the moment when the eyes met, Natalele dodged.
Executive Broowski: Maybe there's something wrong with the stuffing inside?
Executive Cunningham: It's the filler.
Broowski picked up the center cushion, held it in his hands, and unzipped it.
Executive Broowski: Maybe it's these fillers.
He pulled out a handful of filler fibers and threw them on the ground, Monty and Natalair watching.
EXECUTIVE BRowski (continued): Yeah, there's some lumpy stuff here. Mr. Brogan, it's great that I can find these things. This will make your sofa more comfortable to sit on.
The other executives laughed. From the cushions, Broowski pulled what looked like a wine bottle, wrapped in plastic and tape.
Broowski raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. The other executives disagreed and let out giggles.
Executive Broowski (continued): Mr. Brogan, I dare say you're dead this time.
(END

FLASHBACK ) INT - MONTY'S LIVING ROOM
Monty is sitting on the sofa, turning his head to look at the sofa cushions. It was late outside, but Monty didn't turn on the lights.
Natalelle: Honey?
Monty looked up. Natalelle was standing in the bathroom door wearing a bathrobe.
The two stared at each other silently for a while. After that, Monty stood up, grabbed the gun on the table, and pinned it behind his waist.
NATALELLE (continued) Where are you going?
Monty: Go and have dinner with my dad. I'll call you in a few hours.
He gave her a quick kiss before turning to leave, then stopped to look at her—
Monty: Can you wear that silver evening dress tonight?
Natalelle: Do you want me to wear it?
He nods--
Monty: I want to remember what you looked like in that evening dress.
He walked out of the apartment, leaving Natalelle alone in the dark living room.

EXTERNAL, IN FRONT OF MONTI'S HOUSE
Costea sat on the doorstep, sipping something from a small silver bottle. A woman jogs past him, and Costea greets her from behind—
Costea: Hey, pretty girl!
The jogger didn't look in his direction. He took another sip from the silver bottle.
A young mother walks past the doorstep pushing her child.
Costea (continued): Hello, beautiful mom! Hello, little baby!
The mother ignored him, but he attracted the attention of the two-year-old girl, who looked at him.
Costea (continues, shouting behind mother): You look like Julia Roberts, did anyone tell you? come back! I'll have another baby with you, and we'll have a boy!
Monty pushed open his front door and looked down at Costea.
Monty: What are you doing here?
Costea: It's endearing to have so many beauties in your neighborhood.
Costea stands up and grabs Monty's arm -
Costea (continued): How are you?
Monty: I'm enjoying my life.
Costea: The boss wants to talk to you. He wants you to come to Velvet tonight.
Monty: Yes, three people have told me. He wants to say goodbye!
Costea let go of Monty's arm and nodded sadly -
Costea: It seems so!
Monty: What does he want?
Costea: I don't know.
Monty: You came this far to tell me this? Haven't you heard of the phone?
Costea: I know, but you never got back to me. The boss wants to settle this matter.
Monty: I'll go, I'll bring Natalelle and a few friends.
Costea: Take her? why?
Monty: Why not?
Costea shrugs --
Costea: We talked about it, and you're still angry.
Monty: Oh god, she won't betray me.
Costea: No?
Monty: Why did she betray me?
Costea shrugged again.
Costea: Maybe her aunt was an illegal immigrant.
Monty: So what?
Costea: Maybe the FBI threatened her?
Monty shook his head and walked down the steps.
Monty: You're crazy, she wouldn't do that.
Costea: No? Did you ask her?
Monty stared at him for a moment before walking away.
Costea stood on the doorstep. He felt something and raised his palm to the sky. Snowing.
He looked up at the sky. Something caught his attention. It turned out that Natalele was looking down at him in a window on the fourth floor.
Costea looked at her, and she drew the curtains. Costea then took another sip from his bottle.

INTERIOR - Metro station
Monty is waiting for the subway line 6, two little boys in snow jackets and knitted caps are crouching by the platform, pointing to somewhere on the track and laughing.
Monty: What's there?
The kids pointed it out to Monty. Following their line of sight, we can't see it at a glance, but once our eyes get used to the darkness, we can spot something moving.
A group of big rats is crawling along the track, making noises as they step on inflatable paper bags, candy wrappers and orange peels.
Boy A: These guys, they eat rat poison like they eat chocolate.
The largest of them was sniffing around a paper cup outside the third track.
Monty took a handful of change from the pocket of his camel-hair coat.
Monty: Look at this.
He chose a quarter, and with a free-throwing motion as smooth as Hersey Harkin's toss, Monty tossed it into the empty paper cup ten paces away.
The big mouse was startled and hurriedly fled into the mouse hole below the edge of the platform. The two children were also affected, muttering softly.
MONTY (CONT'D): Here--
he takes out the change--
MONTY: Try throwing it once.
The two boys looked at each other for a while, then each picked up a coin. They look at Monty, and Monty nods to them--
MONTY (continued): Let me see how you guys are.
The first child carefully aimed at the paper cup. However, his toss missed the target and the coin hit a tile at the other end of the tunnel.
Monty (continued): Your throwing point is too high. You see—
he's imitating the kid's throwing motion just now.
MONTY (CONT'D) Look, your tee is here, so it's going to go like this, it's like -- do you play basketball?
Boy A: Don't play.
Monty: What about baseball?
Boy A: Don't play.
Monty: Don't play? So what are you playing?
Boys A: Soccer.
Monty (disgusted): Football, well, heck. (turns to another boy) It's your turn, man.
The second boy started his throw with his feet on the yellow safety wire. When he finally tossed the coin, the coin flashed in the air and landed neatly into the paper cup.
Monty (in response): Excellent!
He raised his fist and gave the child a high five, laughing happily.
Boy A: Look, look, Charlie's skills are amazing.
Charlie didn't speak, just hopped on one foot while laughing.
Monty: Make a wish!
Charlie: Will it come true?
Monty: Yes, throwing once is like granting a wish.
Monty and Charlie stared intently at the paper cups.

INT, LINE 6
SUBWAY Monty closes his eyes as the train wobbles through the tunnel.
Trey: Monty? Monty Brogan?
Monty opened his eyes. Trey Powell was standing in front of him, smiling at Monty, clutching the armrest. It was a handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes, with a gentle face, who looked like a Yale graduate. He was wearing a well-cut navy blue jacket. His wife, Nancy, stood next to him, equally blond and equally gentle.
Monty (doesn't recognize them): Hey...
Trey: Trey Powell. at Campbell-Sawyer High School.
MONTY (trying to be enthusiastic): Oh, Trey, hey, why are you here?
Trey: Great, great. Goldman locked me up for 20 hours a day back then, and...sorry, Nancy, this is Monty Brogan, the best basketball player at Campbell-Sawyer High School.
Monty stood up and shook hands with her --
Monty: Nice to meet you, come, sit with me!
Nancy: No, no, take your seat—
Monty: I should get off at this stop. I'm going to change to the B train.
They pat Monty on the shoulder --
Trey: That sucks, I wish I had taken that train too.
Monty: Yeah, but I think we'll see you soon.
Trey: The tenth anniversary party is coming up soon. In fact, I'm the boy organizer for our class. I hope we can see you then, June 15th?
The train had entered the station, and Monty moved towards the door.
Monty: Yeah, I hope so too. happy to see you all.
Monty managed to escape, and Trey kept watching him go.
Nancy: He also attended Campbell-Sawyer High School?
Trey: Yes, still a scholarship recipient, but it didn't last long, and he was fired in his junior year.
Through the subway window, they saw Monty going up the stairs.
Nancy: Why?
Trey: Selling drugs. (Pauses) You can get this guy out of Bensonhurst, but you can't get this guy out of Bensonhurst.

EXT. BROGAN'S PUB - NIGHT The
snow is getting heavier. We could see snowflakes flipping and flying under the dim streetlights.
This bar can be seen from the street. On the front window of the shop are several gilded characters "Brogan's Bar and Grill".
From the outside, this pub looks like any other in Bensonhurst, with neon beer signs hanging in the windows.

BROGAN'S BAR INTERNATIONAL VIEW
Enter the bar, however, and many details will catch your attention: the galvanized bar, the copper foot rails, and the antique mirrors behind the bottles.
A barman wipes down the bar with a rag and stain-removal spray. Two guests sat on the bar chairs watching a basketball game on TV.
Monty and his 50-year-old father, James Brogan, sat at a corner table. They each asked for a pint of Guinness. Old Brogan must have been a very handsome young man back then, but the years have given him too many hardships.
Monty points to the Tiffany candlestick on the wall --
Monty: Where did you get it?
Mr. Brogan: The flea market in Sheepshead Bay. An old woman died, and after five days her child sold everything. Maybe she thought that someone in the future would swallow these disks alone.
Monty: Maybe they don't need so many plates anymore.
MR. BROGAN (contentedly): This china is beautiful.
Monty leaned back in his chair and looked at the bar. As if he had never looked at this familiar place, his eyes fell on his father for a long time.
At this moment, the wrinkled waitress Ruth came over with the food. He gave old Brogan a pork offal and Monty a steak.
Monty: Thanks, Ruth.
Ruth: Always at your service, baby.
She put her hand on Monty's shoulder.
Ruth (continued): I'll send you a cookie every month, the kind with peanut butter, okay? Your favorite one.
Monty smiled and nodded. Ruth and old Brogan exchanged glances before turning away. Mr. Brogan cut out a slice of the bagel and smeared it with butter. He stared at the buttered loaf and put it on a plate.
Mr. Brogan: I talked to Saul...
Monty: Dad, please.
Mr. Brogan: Maybe he can be of some help.
Monty: Sol, he's been out of the world for 20 years.
Mr. Brogan: But he should know some people.
Monty: That three-hundred-year-old guy. He'll sit there all day and play cards, how can he help me?
Mr. Brogan: But he knows some people after all.
Monty: Dad, I beg you. I'll be fine, just please don't get involved. (Pauses) Okay?
Mr. Brogan: You were young when you came out.
Monty dropped his fork on the ground and wiped his mouth with a tissue.
MR. BROGAN (continued): I know you don't think so. But listen to my words, you must bow your head and be a human being in it, and don't cause any trouble.
Monty: God, that's enough.
They all looked at the food on their plates.
Mr. Brogan: This should not have happened.
Monty tapped the tabletop lightly with his knuckles.
Monty: Dad, I'm in such a mess, what can I say to you? I've been utterly defeated.

INT. BROGAN'S PUB BATHROOM, LATER
Monty stood in the cramped bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror. Someone graffiti "fuck you" on the wall above the mirror.
(Switch)

INT. Drug Enforcement Office Building, Interrogation Room, Morning
Monty is facing the mirror on the whole wall.

OBSERVATION ROOM - LATER
Two executive officers look back at him through mirrors.

Interior, the anti-drug office, interrogation, later
Monty sitting in the waiting before the table. Executor Broowski walked in, followed by Executor Cunningham. Broowski deliberately opened the door slightly.
Monty saw from the crack of the door that Natalel was escorted into another room by two other executive officers, and Burowski closed the door, he smiled and faced Monty——
Executive Burowski: You His girlfriend is a beauty.
Monty stared at him. Burowski pretends to tremble--
Executive Burowski (continued): Oh, you look so scary. God, did you see him staring at me?
Cunningham laughed. Both executive officers sat down.
Executive Broowski: Natalel Rosario, what a name. Did you see her figure?
Cunningham laughed again.
Monty: You don't want her to say anything...
Executive Broowski: No, no, you got it all wrong. It was she who exposed you.
Monty was silent for a while. When he was about to speak, his voice went hoarse again, full of apprehension, and he had to keep himself calm—
Monty: You lied to me.
Executive Broowski: Me? It's really a kindness that doesn't pay off, you just trust her. I just know she can go. We just let her go, goodbye, Natalelle.
Executive Cunningham: She might have a big party tonight.
Executive Broowski: Of course, why not? It should be celebrated. She can own that high-end apartment by herself.
Executor Cunningham: She's a smart girl, you're different...
Executor Brofsky: You look pretty smart, going to a noble school on a scholarship, don't you? Not bad for a poor boy like you from Bensonhurst.
Executive Cunningham: But you got kicked out of school for selling drugs, sorry for you, you bastard.
Executive Broowski: You know what happens to a handsome guy like you in prison?
Executive Cunningham: Oh, they'll love you to death.
Executive Broowski: But it's not too late, Brogan. For a first-degree felony, you can get a good deal. You gotta be smart, why don't you talk about your boss, Blue?
Monty (to Cunningham) Can I ask you a question?
Executive Cunningham: Of course.
Broowski and Cunningham leaned forward, hoping Monty would name those names.
Monty: Are you still so wordy when you're licking his ass?
Broowski and Cunningham sat back.
Monty: I wonder because he doesn't always know how to shut up, don't you think it's noisy? He licks your ass but keeps talking?
(CUT)

INT, BROGAN'S pub restroom
Monty is still staring at the mirror. He wet his fingers and tried to wipe "Dry You" away. At this time, someone knocked on the door, and Monty wiped it hard, but still couldn't wipe it off.
Another knock on the door.
Monty: Got it, that's fine.

BROGAN'S Pub
Monty returns to his seat and drinks some Guinness.
Monty: I want to ask you a question.
Mr. Brogan: All right.
Monty: What do you think of Natalelle?
Mr. Brogan: She's a good girl, and your mother would like her too.
Monty: Do you trust her?
Mr. Brogan: Do I trust her? Why should I trust her?
Monty: Do you think I should trust her?
Mr. Brogan: Where did this come from?
Monty: I heard some strange things, (pauses) Someone said she betrayed me.
MR. BROGAN (skeptically) Why would she do this?
Monty: I don't know. Possibly a false accusation.
Mr. Brogan: That girl loves you, Monty. I don't believe she will betray you.
Monty: Everything got weird. Dad. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and take a minute to think about who I am, you know? Where the hell am I from.
Mr. Brogan looked down at his plate and nodded.
MONTY (continued): I look at the people I'm with and think, are they my friends? (Pauses) The only people I trust these days are Frank and Jack, who I grew up with.
Mr. Brogan: I miss them so much.
Monty: As for Natalelle... God. I can't miss her.
Mr. Brogan: It doesn't matter now, does it?
Monty looked at his father without blinking his blue eyes.
Monty: It's important to me.
Monty looks at the table -
Monty (continued): It's time for me to go.
Mr. Brogan: Well, I'll see you in the morning.
Mr. Brogan took his wallet out of the inner pocket of his jacket.
Monty: Morning? why? I'll go by bus myself.
Mr. Brogan: Forget the bus. I'll drive you there and save half the time.
Monty: No thanks, I'd rather say "goodbye" here.
Mr. Brogan took a small photograph from his wallet and gave it to his son.
Mr. Brogan: Take this and they'll keep you going.
Monty held the photo carefully.

The camera zooms to a photo
of Brogan 20 years ago hugging her beautiful wife, with Monty, just 6, standing in front of them, wearing pajamas and a firefighter's red helmet, looking at the floor.
MR. BROGAN (continued): You used to sleep with your fire helmet on when you were a kid, your mom…
Monty: Stop it, Dad. Don't talk now.
Monty carefully put the photo in his purse and kissed his father's forehead before walking away.
James Brogan stared blankly at the chair where Monty had sat.

ELIUSHERIA GREECE HOTEL - NIGHT
Boss Blue, Senka Vargobek, and Victor Geddy are seated in a private box overlooking the hotel lobby.
The decor is ancient Greek: white walls, adobe floors, and posters depicting the Parthenon at sunset and the Santorini rock at sunrise.
This is Boss Blue's territory. He was a murderous-looking man, with a thick black beard and big, powerful hands, and could feel he had no tolerance for the incompetent. It is difficult to determine his age, probably between 40 and 60 years old.
Vargobek, the deputy of Boss Blue, looked like an overweight country fat guy at first glance, but upon closer inspection, there was a hint of gloom in his smile, and despicableness in his eyes. Nearly 50 years old.
Geddy, thirty-five-six, the attorney for Boss Blue, wore a shiny coat, gold bracelets, and dark brown skin that had been deliberately exposed to the sun.
Geddy was busy eating his shrimp and cheese while the other two kept watching.
Geddy points out the window—
Geddy: It's snowing.
Boss Blue: Did you meet Brogan this morning?
Blue, the eldest, had an accent as hard to guess as his age, maybe Afghan, or Iranian, or Turk.
Geddy: Yes, I see.
Geddy picked up the wine and poured himself a sip.
Boss Blue: Then what?
Geddy: Obviously, he's down right now. I don't know, he's hard to read.
Boss Blue: I know he'll do this, but I don't like him.
Geddy: Listen, I'm 100% sure this kid didn't confess. If he confesses, he will not be sent to Otis Village Jail.
Boss Blue and Vargobek exchanged glances, apparently not taking the lawyer seriously.
Boss Blue: We're talking about human behavior, Mr. Geddy. Nothing is one hundred percent.
Vargobek: Don't think of them all as idiots.
Geddy: That's the problem, they're not idiots. If this guy is flattering to the FBI, he's not going to jail. Second, he chose the path he should take, right? If he becomes a tainted witness, they'll make him disappear from our sight.
Geddy picked up another shrimp with his fork and swallowed it.
GERDY (mouth full of food, continues): He's always been tight-lipped.
Vargobek: That's only so far.
Geddy: He's a smart guy, and he knows what works to his advantage.
Boss Blue: He's a jerk, I'm afraid he won't last long in it.
Geddy: He will. The FBI has a rule that reduces sentences by one day a month as long as they behave well. Even for raping a boy, it's only 7 years in prison.
Boss Blue (to Wargobek) Is he coming tonight?
Vargobek nodded.
Geddy: Where are you going? Throw him a farewell party at Velvet.
Boss Blue: Mr. Geddy, you don't have to go.
Geddy: Why do I have to appraise a Velvet party other than 7 years in prison?
Boss Blue: To win more lawsuits.
Geddy laughed, but he soon realized that Blue and Vargobek were not joking.
Geddy: Listen, they found 650 grams of marijuana in the cushions of his couch, and those Eastside junkies said they bought it from Brogan. The game is over here.
Boss Blue and Vargobek said nothing. Geddy licks his lips--
Geddy (continued): That's American law, there's nothing to argue about. Do you want me to argue with the iron fence? Naturally, it will be between 78 months and 97 months. I have given him a suspended sentence, and let him stay in this flowery world for a few more months---
Boss Blue: Why did the judge give him a suspended sentence? If he didn't say anything to the FBI, how could he be roaming the streets now?
Geddy shrugs --
Geddy: That's normal for nonviolent sex offenders. He has no criminal record in the past, and his dad has secured the bar for bail. They don't have to worry about him escaping.
Boss Blue: They know more than you think. If, as Brogan said, he was caught, how did the narcotics officer go straight to the sofa? They obviously know the exact location.
Geddy: Someone betrayed him, do you know who?
Boss Blue and Vargobek looked at the lawyer with expressionless faces and said nothing.
GERDY (continued): None of my business.
Boss Blue: Exactly.

EXT - MULBERRY STREET - NIGHT
Monty walks alone down a snow-covered street with his hands in the pockets of his camel hair coat. He watched everything around him: pedestrians on the street, vehicles slipping from time to time because of the snow, shops and restaurants.

EXT - Fashion boutique
Monty stops in front of a boutique. In the window, bald models wore the latest fashions.
(Toggles) LOOK

, FASHION BOUTIQUE,
FLASHBACK (two years ago) Monty and Natalelle holding hands and looking at haute couture on the models in the window. Because it was night, the shop was closed.
Natalelle: This is my favorite fashion store.
Monty: I know. Go in and have a look.
Natalelle: It's closed.
Monty: Not to you.
He knocked on the window. A clerk went to the window and glanced out and saw Monty. He went to the door, unlocked it, and opened it for Natalelle and Monty.
Natalelle looked at Monty, who was smiling at her and motioning her to enter. She walked in suspiciously. Monty nods to the clerk as he walks in -
Monty (continued): How are you?
Clerk: Good. Monty, how did you get here?

Interior, fashion boutique
store only two people Natalie Lyle and Monty. She walked around, sizing up tops, trousers, jackets, and handbags. Monty kept looking at her.
Natalelle: Everything here is expensive.
Monty: Don't worry about that, it's your birthday today.
The clerk came in from the storeroom—the
clerk: We got some new Italian styles this morning. Would you like to take a look?

- STORE NEW CLOTHES ARE STILL IN PLASTIC
BAGS. Natalelle paces over, feels the fabric, and examines the cut. The clerk touched her arm.
Clerk: Here, let's take a look at these fashions. This is their best work of the year.
He tore open a fashion bag hanging in a corner closet. It was a glossy silver evening dress, like a curtain of water in the soft light.
Natalel held the clothes to her chest and measured herself, looked at herself in the mirror on the opposite wall, looked back at Monty, and smiled.
(Toggle)

EXTERIOR, FASHION BOUTIQUE WINDOW, NIGHT
Monty staring at the window, still reminiscing. The shadow on the window glass also stared at him.

Interior, Slattery's Apartment, Night
Slattery opened the door and Jacob hurried in, his American-style cap (which he had been wearing all night) and his coat covered in snow.
Slattery: Looks like it's really going down, doesn't it?
Slattery lives in an apartment where rich bachelors live. The TV in the living room was so big that the weather announcer inside surprised Jacob. The living room itself is also much larger than the average Manhattan apartment, but aside from the TV, old-fashioned sofa, coffee table, Persian rug under the window (rolled and unrolled), and a shiny red electric guitar in the corner There is nothing left.
Slattery went back to the sofa and grabbed a bottle of wine, while Jacob was still standing in the doorway shaking off the snow.
Jacob (pointing to guitar): Are you in class?
Slattery: Do you think I have time for guitar lessons? Of course it would be nice if that was the case, right?
Jacob: Yeah, that would be nice.
Slattery: I like this red, have you found the TV? Big, right?
Jacob. very large.
On the TV screen, the weatherman is talking about the coming storm--
Weatherman: . . . In the big cities of New York State, I'm telling you what's going on, Carol, and there's going to be a spectacle. Expect 6 to 10 inches of snow everywhere.
Jacob: You can imagine someone actually using the word "spectacle."
Slattery: 10 inches of snow!
Jacob: Maybe tomorrow will be a snow day.
Slattery: We can go skiing on the weekends. I just bought a set of skis that cost me 600 bucks.
Jacob: I won't.
Slattery: Well, I can't ski anyway, but there's 10 inches of snow! (Pause) Would you like to stand all night? You make me nervous.
Jacob sat down beside Slattery and watched the gigantic TV with disinterest. Just before the advertisement appeared, the screen went blank, and Jacob looked at his face reflected on it.
Jacob: Frank?
Slattery: What?
Jacob: Are you ready?
Slattery changed the channel --
Slattery: What are you going to do?
Jacob: About tonight.
Slattery: What's there to prepare?
Jacob: What should we say to him? He is about to go to prison for 7 years. It's like visiting a friend who is hospitalized with cancer. What should we say?
Slattery: Don't say anything. We got him drunk and he went wherever he wanted.
Jacob: I don't even know why he invited me.
Slattery: What are you talking about?
Jacob: We've rarely seen each other lately. You and I are his former friends.
Slattery: His current friends haven't done him any good.
They watched TV and were silent for a while.
Jacob: I can't believe he's been gone for seven years. Those guys locked him in, and with a bang, goodbye.
Slattery: It couldn't be better for him.
This startled Jacob—
Jacob: What do you mean?
Slattery: That is, if he doesn't get caught, he won't even live for seven years. People would find him under the Manhattan Bridge, shot twice in the head.
Jacob thought for a while, then picked up a photo from the coffee table.

The
16-year-old Slattery, Jacob and Monty pose for the photoshoot.
Jacob: Oh my God, we were still babes back then, weren't we?
Slattery laughed, Jacob still staring at the photo.
(Toggle)

INT. Campbell-Sawyer High School Cafeteria, Flashback
Three 16-year-old boys sitting at a table with plates of food. They wore school uniforms: tracksuits with the Campbell-Sawyer High School logo and loose ties.
Young Slattery picks up a soft spaghetti from the plate -
Young Slattery: Look at this.
Friends watched as he inserted the end of the noodle into one nostril.
Slattery began to inhale through his nostrils. Both Monty and Jacob leaned back in disgust. Slattery tucked a finger into the other nostril, then pulled one end of the spaghetti out.
In this way, a piece of noodles sticks out from both nostrils, and he pulls it back and forth with one hand and one end—
young Slattery: It's called "tickling the brain."
Young Monty: That's why you're still a baby.
Young Slattery: I'm not a baby.
Two classmates, Terry and Mason, came to the table, both blond, blue-eyed and somewhat lazy, upper-class boys.
Terry: So fascinating, Slattery.
Mason: So elegant, you three out-of-town bumpkins.
Slattery stared at them, spaghetti still wiggling under his nose.
Young Slattery: Fuck you.
Terry: Oh, what a witty answer. Come on, we look forward to faster answers from our fellowship recipients.
Young Slattery (touching fist) Do you want to see how fast I am?
Mason: All right, all right, take it easy. What do you guys do on weekends?
Young Jacob: We're going to preview "Paradise Lost" for next Monday.
Terry: Monty, come to our party?
Young Monty: I don't know, maybe.
Terry: It's an orgy.
Young Slattery: Anniversary bash in the park? Do you want to sit and drink tea together?
Slattery took a sip of the milk from the paper cup and shook his little finger like a nobleman drinking tea.
Terry: More precisely, smoking tea. Earlier I bought half an ounce of marijuana.
Mason imitates smoking marijuana---
Mason: 200 yuan for one smoke.
Young Monty: $200 for a half ounce?
Terry: What? How much did you buy?
Monty shrugs --
young Monty: I can buy it for 70 bucks.
Terry took out his leather wallet, pulled out a brand new $100 bill, and handed it to Monty—
Terry: Take it, no change needed.
Terry and Mason strolled away. Monty held the bill between his fingertips, fascinated. Jacob looked at him suspiciously—
young Jacob: When did you play this?
Young Monty (pointing to Terry and Mason): They are born rich, right? Well, to be fair, we should be born with power.
Young Jacob: What power?
Monty was near the adjacent table, where four students were reviewing their homework.
Young Monty: Hey Julian, is the math homework hard?
Julian, a pale, squat boy with a striking resemblance to Alfred Hitchcock. He glanced at Monty, disapprovingly. Apparently he found satisfaction in being watched by Monty, whose three friends at the same table looked at Monty.
Julian: It's easy, do you want to borrow it?
Young Monty: Just wanted to see if you did anything wrong.
Julian laughed and handed Monty a stack of answer sheets full of geometric proofs --
Julian: Don't even copy my name this time.
Young Monty: Haha.
Monty smiled and shook Jacob's answer sheet—
Young Monty (continued): Power. (Pause) Hey, Frank, are you still eating? I'm getting hungry.
He grabbed the spaghetti on Slattery's nose. Slattery fended off him with a knife.
(

CUT ) INT Slattery's apartment
Jacob puts the picture back on the coffee table.
Jacob: Hillbilly from out of town, remember?
Slattery stood up and stretched. He looks tired--
Slattery: Can you help me lay this rug? It's been there for a month.
Jacob: Where do you want to lay it?
Slattery: Right here.
They carried the rolled up rug to the center of the room and tore off the plastic wrap.
Jacob: What is he going to do with Doyle?
Slattery: Doyle? I don't know, just leave it to Natalelle.
Slattery removed the bag and threw it into the corner. They rolled out the rug.
Jacob: They should at least let the dog follow him so he might not be so alone.
Slattery raised his eyebrows and looked at Jacob --
Slattery: No one can take a dog to jail.
Jacob: I'm just saying, it would be nice if that was the case.
They looked down at the unfolding carpet.
Slattery: It looks beautiful.
Jacob: Monty is strong and I think he'll be fine. View more about 25th Hour reviews