EXT. VICE CITY - BAYSIDE - MORNING (FLASHBACK, DAY 2)
A thick, humid dawn breaks over the neighborhood. Palm trees
stand like sentinels. A rooster CROWS somewhere in the
distance.
JASON'S MUSTANG pulls up to Lucia's apartment building—a
crumbling Art Deco relic with peeling paint.
INT. LUCIA'S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS
Lucia opens the door. She's been awake—dark circles, restless
energy. A small shrine sits in the corner: candles, a
child's drawing, a photo of Lucia holding an INFANT GIRL.
JASON
(stepping inside)
You ready?
LUCIA
(grabbing her keys)
Been ready since four. Couldn't
sleep.
Jason notices the shrine. His eyes linger for a beat.
JASON
(quietly)
How long has it been?
LUCIA
(defensive)
How long has what been?
JASON
Since you saw her. Your daughter.
Lucia freezes. Her hand tightens on her keys.
LUCIA
(cold)
That's none of your business.
JASON
(holding hands up)
Fair enough. Just... asking.
LUCIA
(sighing)
Three years, two months, and eleven
days. Not that I'm counting.
She walks past him, heading for the door.
LUCIA (CONT'D)
Her name's Sofia. She's with my
mother now. In Liberty City. Safe.
Away from... all this.
JASON
(following her out)
You're trying to get her back. That's
why you're doing all this.
LUCIA
(stopping on the stairs)
What I'm doing is surviving. And
getting enough money to hire a
lawyer who's not a public defender
who shows up to court hungover.
She turns to face him, fierce.
LUCIA (CONT'D)
The state took her, Jason. TOOK
HER. Because I was eighteen, broke,
and made one mistake. One fucking
mistake. And now I got to prove I'm
"stable" and "responsible" while
working for a drug lord and running
from the federales every other week.
JASON
(nodding slowly)
I get it.
LUCIA
(laughing bitterly)
You get it? You don't get shit. You
got out, didn't you? Army. Special
forces. Orders. Structure. You had
a path. I had—
She gestures vaguely at the crumbling
building around them.
LUCIA (CONT'D)
—this. I had this.
JASON
(firm)
You got me now.
Lucia studies him. Something softens in her expression—just
for a second.
LUCIA
(half-smiling)
Yeah? For how long?
JASON
(without hesitation)
As long as you want.
A tense, tender beat. Then Lucia pushes past him.
LUCIA
(muttering)
Keep talking like that and I might
actually start believing you.
EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY
Jason's Mustang speeds toward the coast. The Leonida sun
glitters off the ocean in the distance.
INT. JASON'S MUSTANG - CONTINUOUS
LUCIA
(looking out window)
So who's this "connected" guy Brian
wants us to meet?
JASON
(keeping eyes on road)
Didn't say. Just that he's old-school.
Which means either he's cartel or
he's someone from the Vice City
glory days.
LUCIA
Great. Either way, we're walking
into a room with someone who's
killed more people than cancer.
JASON
(smirking)
Welcome to the grind.
His phone BUZZES. He checks it—the SECOND PHONE. A text
message:
TEXT MESSAGE
"Timeline accelerated. Meeting
tonight. 9PM. The usual spot."
Jason's face darkens. Lucia doesn't notice.
LUCIA
(playfully)
You know what I miss? Normal shit.
Going to the beach. Eating at a
restaurant without checking the exits.
Being someone who isn't looking
over her shoulder every five
seconds.
JASON
(distant)
We'll get there.
LUCIA
(laughing)
Yeah? When? When we're rich? When
we're dead? When we're in witness
protection, eating government cheese
in some shit town in Nebraska?
JASON
(serious)
Is that what you want? Nebraska?
Quiet life?
LUCIA
(sighing)
I want Sofia. I want her to have a
life where she doesn't know what a
kilo looks like. Where her biggest
worry is homework, not whether her
mom is gonna come home in a body
bag.
She turns to Jason.
LUCIA (CONT'D)
What about you? What do you want?
Jason is quiet. The question hangs.
JASON
(finally)
I used to know. Now... I'm not sure.
LUCIA
(softly)
You can tell me. Anything. You
know that, right?
Jason grips the steering wheel tighter.
JASON
(evasive)
Yeah. I know.
EXT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE DISTRICT - DAY
The Mustang pulls up to a rusted gate marking the entrance
to an old industrial area near the port.
Jason kills the engine. In the distance: container ships
sitting like sleeping giants on the horizon.
LUCIA
(looking around)
Charming. Very "murder-hobo chic."
JASON
(checking his weapon)
Stay sharp. Brian said no weapons.
LUCIA
(pulling a small pistol from her
waistband)
Brian also said he'd pay off my
mother's mortgage. Look how that
turned out.
JASON
(stern)
Lucia.
LUCIA
(putting it back reluctantly)
Fine. Fine. But if some toothless
gator-fucker tries anything, I'm
grabbing the first thing heavy I
can find.
They exit the car. A BLACK SUV sits parked nearby—tinted
windows, government plates.
Jason's eyes narrow. He recognizes the type.
JASON (CONT'D)
(under his breath)
Shit.
LUCIA
(noticing)
What?
JASON
(quickly)
Nothing. Come on. Let's get this
over with.
They walk toward the warehouse entrance. Two LARGE MEN in
suits stand guard—clearly hired muscle.
GUARD #1
(stepping forward)
You Duval?
JASON
Yeah.
GUARD #1
And the lady?
LUCIA
(flashing a smile)
The lady has a name. And the lady
is right here.
GUARD #1
(unamused)
Weapons?
JASON
(spreading arms)
Clean.
GUARD #1
(to Lucia)
You?
LUCIA
(sighing)
Left it in the car. Happy?
The guard frisks them both roughly. Lucia makes a show of
enjoying it.
LUCIA (CONT'D)
(sarcastic purr)
Mmm. Is this included in the tip?
The guard scowls. Nods to the other.
GUARD #1
They're good. Go on in. And
sweetheart? Try to be less of a
smartass. This ain't the kind of
party you want to get thrown out of.
CUT TO BLACK.
INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - CONTINUOUS
The warehouse is surprisingly clean inside. Industrial lights
flood a central area where fold-out tables have been arranged
like a makeshift conference room.
A group of HARDENED MEN sit around: cartel representatives,
street-level distributors, and at the head of the table—
DONNIE WYMAN (55), scraggly-bearded, sun-worn, wearing a
confederate-flag tank top and trucker hat that reads "FUCK
YOUR FEELINGS."
This is Brian's "connected" contact. A Proud Boys reject with
a charming smile and dead eyes.
DONNIE
(standing, grinning)
Well, well, well. Brian's little
protégés. Come on in, have a seat.
He gestures to two empty chairs. Jason and Lucia sit. The
men around the table size them up like wolves eyeing fresh
meat.
DONNIE (CONT'D)
(leaning back)
So, you're the ones running product
through the gulf routes, huh? Brian
says you got a good head on your
shoulders, Jason. Military man.
Disciplined. And you, sweetheart—
He looks at Lucia with undisguised
appreciation.
DONNIE (CONT'D)
—they say you're the one to talk to
for logistics. Moving product.
Getting shit done. That true?
LUCIA
(coolly)
I've moved more product through
Leonida than your entire family has
moved bull through their last family
reunion.
A tense beat. Donnie BLASTS into laughter—belly-shaking,
tears-in-eyes laughter.
DONNIE
(slapping the table)
OH, I like her! Brian wasn't kidding.
Firecracker personality. Exactly
what we need down here.
He leans forward, becoming serious.
DONNIE (CONT'D)
Here's the situation. My associates
and I have been running guns
through the Caribbean for decades.
Late-eighties, we were moving
product for Noriega. Early-nineties,
we had a sweet setup with the
Colombians. Then the towers fell,
and suddenly everyone's a fucking
terrorist. Borders got tight. Feds
got... aggressive.
JASON
(analyzing)
And now?
DONNIE
Now, we need new routes. New people.
The old networks are burned. Most
of my guys are either dead, in
prison, or eating early-bird
specials in Boca Raton.
He pulls out a MAP, unrolling it on the table. Red circles
mark locations across the Gulf of Mexico, Caribbean islands,
and southern Leonida.
DONNIE (CONT'D)
(pointing)
We got container ships coming in
from Port-Au-Prince, Nassau, and
Havana. Old foxes like me got
contacts. What we don't have is the
last mile—the distribution network
on the ground. That's where Brian
comes in. And that's where you two
come in.
LUCIA
(studying the map)
You want us to run distribution?
DONNIE
(nodding)
And protection. See, the Flores
brothers—Dominican cats from Santo
Domingo—they been trying to muscle
in on our territory. Real violent
fucks. They think Leonida belongs to
them because they got a few hitmen
and a Mind Drain channel.
JASON
(frowning)
And you want us to handle them?
DONNIE
(grimacing)
Handle? No, no. "Handle" is what
you do to a situation. This ain't
a situation. This is war. What I
want you to do is WIN.
He slides a folder across the table. Jason opens it:
photos, surveillance, addresses. Names of targets.
DONNIE (CONT'D)
The Flores brothers operate out of
Port Gellhorn. Little shithole town
north of here. Redneck paradise.
They got a distribution hub there,
working with a local biker gang
called the Final Chapter. Real
scumbags. You shut that down, the
Flores brothers lose their foothold
in Vice City. You do that...
Donnie pauses, smiling wide.
DONNIE (CONT'D)
...and you get a cut of EVERYTHING.
Fifty thousand a month, guaranteed.
Plus bonuses. Plus Brian's blessing
to keep operating however the fuck
you want.
Lucia's eyes widen slightly. Fifty thousand. That's more
than most people make in a year.
LUCIA
(feigning skepticism)
Fifty thousand a month? For what?
Playing soldier?
DONNIE
(serious)
Fifty thousand a month for RISK.
For doing what no one else will.
For bleeding and breaking so my
product gets to the streets without
some Dominican prick cutting into my
profit margins.
He leans back.
DONNIE (CONT'D)
Or, you can walk away right now. Go
back to selling nickel bags on
corners and hoping the cops don't
catch you slipping. Your choice.
Jason and Lucia exchange a look. A silent conversation.
JASON
(finally)
We need time to discuss.
DONNIE
(chuckling)
Take twenty-four hours. But don't
take longer. The Flores brothers
ain't waiting. And neither am I.
He stands, extending a hand.
DONNIE (CONT'D)
Welcome to the big leagues, kids.
Jason shakes it. His grip is firm. Calculated.
JASON
(coldly)
We'll be in touch.
EXT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE DISTRICT - DAY
Jason and Lucia exit the warehouse. Their footsteps echo
against the concrete.
LUCIA
(hushed, urgent)
Fifty thousand. Jason, that's—
JASON
(cutting her off)
I know what it is.
LUCIA
(excited)
That's lawyer money. Real lawyer
money. I could get Sofia back. I
could—
JASON
(grabbing her arm)
And you think this is free? This
isn't just distribution, Lucia.
They're asking us to go to war.
With the Dominicans. With a biker
gang. You ready for that? Ready to
kill people?
Lucia looks at him. Hard. Unflinching.
LUCIA
(quietly fierce)
I've killed people. I've watched
people die. I've lost everything.
And you know what I'm not ready for?
Another year of being small. Another
year of being nobody. If this is my
chance to get my daughter back, then
yes.
She steps closer.
LUCIA (CONT'D)
The real question is—are YOU ready?
Or is there something else going on
here? Something you're not telling me?
JASON stares at her. A LONG BEAT. The question hangs between
them like a blade.
JASON
(finally)
Get in the car. We'll talk on the
way back.
They walk to the Mustang in silence. The distance between
them feels wider than ever.
As they drive away, we HOLD on the BLACK SUV with government
plates—still parked in the same spot.
Through the tinted windows, we see movement. A phone is
raised to an ear.
MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
(into phone, low)
They met with Wyman. Looks like
Jason's playing both sides. Should
we pull him out?
WOMAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
(cold, professional)
No. Let him dig deeper. We'll use
him to take down the whole network.
Jason Duval is a valuable asset.
And assets are expendable.
The call ends. The SUV remains, silent. Waiting.
SMASH TO BLACK.
u/Additional_Use_8549 — 10 days ago