PART I. ARRIVAL AND PREPARATION

[A plane, shrouded in darkness. A speaker.]

CAPTAIN, OVER THE SPEAKER: Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing in Miami in 30 minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts as we begin to descend.

[A packet of cigarettes is shown at first. A hand reaches into it and takes out a cig. Lighting it, we are shown the face of the protagonist, FRANCISCO ORTEGA. He’s flying in from California, on the way to the Magic City, Miami. Cue overhead shot of FRANCISCO with the other passengers, most of them asleep. Some flight attendants walk past. One stops at FRANCISCO’S seat.]

FLIGHT ATTENDANT: Some snacks and water, sir?

FRANCISCO: I’ll pass, thanks.

[Nodding, the FLIGHT ATTENDANT continues on her way. FRANCISCO buckles his seat belt and rolls up the window, causing the afternoon sun to shine in. He looks out. Just then, the plane gives a jerk, causing his cig to fall from his mouth.]

FRANCISCO: Goddamned planes…

[The scenery changes. We transition to FRANCISCO coming out of the gate labeled LOS ANGELES. He’s got nothing on him except a large briefcase. He goes through all the usual motions--getting his baggage, etc etc. He comes out to the entrance of the airport and hails a cab.]

CAB DRIVER: Where to, boss?

FRANCISCO: Daybreak Motel, if you’d please.

[They drive along the highway to the city proper. The radio is playing ‘Heaven is a Place on Earth’. It’s beginning to approach sunset. Palm trees whoosh past, and a low red sun looms large in the sky, with the skyline of Miami underneath. Francisco looks out the window, admiring the view.]

RADIO: When the night falls down, I wait for you and you come around...

CAB DRIVER: Must’ve been a long flight, huh, boss? You look pretty outta it.

FRANCISCO: I feel like I’m barely hanging onto life. [He lights another cigarette.]

CAB DRIVER: So what’s bringin ya down here, anyway?

FRANCISCO: I’m visiting family.

CAB DRIVER: Ah! Got a brother or sister in town?

FRANCISCO: Uncle. He’s a pretty good guy. Been having a vermin problem in his garden though, so I’m helping him out with that.

[The cab enters into the city proper. They drive by happy beach goers, hopping restaurants, and glitzy clubs. The sun sinks into the sea, and the skies grow darker.]

CAB DRIVER: Flying across the country for garden work...imagine that!

[They drive into a more seedier district. Liquor stores and laundromats abound. The nightclubs become more sleazier. The streets are gritty and bathed in neon. All sorts of cityfolk walk past.]

CAB DRIVER: Quite a spot you’ve picked to stay at, boss…

FRANCISCO: Hey, as long as I got a place to sleep.

[The cab comes to a stop at a dingy old motel: Daybreak Motel. FRANCISCO pays the driver $50. The driver hands him a small envelope in exchange.]

CAB DRIVER: Hope you take care of that vermin problem, boss.

 [Taking his luggage and briefcase, he goes into the lobby and checks in, then FRANCISCO goes up the steps and walks along the hallway to his room. Unlocking the door, he enters. It’s as dingy as he thought it’d be, with flower patterned peeling wallpaper and dusty furniture. Luckily the bed seems to be well made though. He sets down his luggage on it. He opens the ones containing his clothes, his toiletries, etc. Then he sets down the briefcase and envelope. He opens them, and their contents are finally revealed: a set of guns--one sniper, and another a pistol, with boxes of ammo. Next, a blurry photo of a girl, some document. And in the small envelope, a newspaper clipping of an advertisement for FLIP’s, a nearby nightclub. A steely look comes over his face. He’s here for business, alright--business to kill.]

CUE FLASHBACK

[A rather fancy mansion, in an upscale district of Los Angeles. Spanish in style.]

CAPO CASTILLO: HIJO DE PUTA!!!

[We are shown a mirror, with the vague figures reflected in it. Suddenly, an entire potted plant is thrown at it, shattering it to pieces. As some servants clean it, we are shown an overhead shot of FRANCISCO and his superior, a ranting CAPO CASTILLO. He is quite round in appearance.]

CAPO CASTILLO: DAMN IT ALL! AND JUST WHEN EVERYTHING WAS GOING SMOOTHLY!

[FRANCISCO stands there, taking in the scene with slight shock and amusement. Suddenly a statuette is thrown, and he dodges. CAPO CASTILLO, panting, sits on his couch.]

CAPO CASTILLO: Five of our Miami men dead already, Ortega. All dropped like flies, and all done by one perpetrator. [he turns] GET ME THE DOCUMENTS!

[A servant hands CAPO CASTILLO some papers as FRANCISCO takes a seat. CAPO CASTILLO sets it before FRANCISCO on the coffee table. FRANCISCO looks over the documents. All the info on there is rather vague. It details an individual by the name of CHERRY BOMB. An enforcer/dealer for a gang in Miami. There is a photo as well, of a blurry figure with brown hair and a red jacket, in what seems to be a club. And more oddly enough, a can of CHERRY COKE.]

CAPO CASTILLO: Cherry Bomb, she’s called. Some cokehead whore in one of the gangs over there.

FRANCISCO: What do we know about her?

CAPO CASTILLO: Dangerous. A lunatic. When I said five of our men were killed, I do not mean over a period of days or months. I mean in one day.

FRANCISCO: Really… *he looks at the photo* She doesn’t look like the type.

CAPO CASTILLO: With a chair leg and bike chain, Ortega. And in all of our reports, the one constant is a can of Cherry Coke that she leaves after her kills.

FRANCISCO: Must be her favorite drink...

CAPO CASTILLO: We’ve sent everything after her, and yet the puta still lives. So that’s why we’re down to you, Ortega. You’re one of the best in the business, and I know you can have a bullet through her brain before the year ends...

[He leans forward.]

CAPO CASTILLO: I. WANT. HER. DEAD. Do you hear me? DEAD! I want her to become a smudge on the FUCKING PAVEMENT, GODDAMN IT! I WANT HER DEAD!!!

FRANCISCO: Then I guess I gotta book a flight... [He takes the documents.]

CAPO CASTILLO: Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ve already covered the expenses. Only guy you gonna pay is the cabbie we’re sending.

[FRANCISCO TURNS AROUND, ABOUT TO LEAVE]

CAPO CASTILLO: Remember, Ortega: I expect nothing but the best.

[BACK to the motel. Francisco has finished unpacking and his now looking into the mirror. He splashes himself a few times, to ease off some of the tiredness. He’s got a bit of investigating to do…]

PART II. FLIP’S

[Miami is oddly beautiful at night, especially in the rain. FRANCISCO walks through the water and neon soaked streets. He’s on the hunt, and nothing’s gonna get in his way. He takes out the photo from his pocket. If only it were a bit more clearer, but he’ll make do with this.
He walks all the way to FLIP’S, a lively nightclub in the heart of Wynwood. He enters. Scenes of people dancing, engaged in various acts of hedonism, and a band tuning their instruments on stage. He walks up to the bar, affecting a tired look. ]

FRANCISCO: Bourbon. With ice.

[As the bartender, LUAN prepares his drink, she decides to strike up a conversation with FRANCISCO.]

LUAN: You look pretty young to be drinking bourbon of all things.

FRANCISCO: I guess, but the job I got winds me out sometimes.

LUAN: Amen to that, brother! What’s been winding ya out anyway?

FRANCISCO: I’m a postal worker. Y’know, driving around all day in the heat, getting chased by dogs...the usual stuff.

LUAN: Sounds ‘ruff’...get it? Hahaha. What’s a typical day on the job like for ya?

FRANCISCO: Well...it goes a little something like this.

[CUE FLASHBACK. Francis approaching a bedroom door.]

FRANCISCO: I bring the parcel to the door.

[Aims his gun at the guy he’s gonna kill.]

FRANCISCO: I deliver it to them.

[the corpse, covered in blood, along with the bed it’s lying on. Cue Francisco leaving the scene, sheafing his pistol]

FRANCISCO: And I ask em the sign the paperwork.

LUAN: Sounds easy to me!

FRANCISCO: Oh, trust me. It’s much harder than it looks.

LUAN: Well, it ain’t like I know everything. If it’s making ya want bourbon, then who am I to judge? [she hands him his drink] Go postal, will ya? Hahahaha.

[FRANCISCO gratefully takes it and begins to drink. Next to him, a girl is having trouble lighting up her cigarette.]

GIRL: Fuckin’...hey, got a lighter on ya?

FRANCISCO: Yeah. [He lights the GIRL’S cigarette for her]

GIRL: Much appreciated.

[She then takes a swig of CHERRY COKE, gets up, and disappears into the crowd. FRANCISCO sits there for a bit, enjoying his drink--and then he realizes.
Quickly he heads into the crowd, trying to look for any sign of her, but she’s already gone. Frustrated, Fran goes back to the bar, finishes his drink, and pays the bartender.]

FRANCISCO: Thanks--have a nice night.

LUAN: No problemo. I hope that drink ‘delivered’ for ya! Hahahaha!

[FRANCISCO leaves, taking a fervent drag of his cigarette. Meanwhile, far behind him on the sidewalk, the GIRL approaches a car. A lovely, sporty pair of legs, clad in knee high leather boots. A can of CHERRY COKE being tossed to the ground. Pan up to the girl reaching into her varsity jacket pocket and pulling out a gun. In the trunk of the car, a man, begging for his life. The girl shoots him twice and blows the smoke off the barrel.]

CHERRY BOMB: Two for flinching.