CROSSFADE TO
An industrial section of Gower Street in Hollywood, Los Angeles. The sky is solid black and a heavy rainfall pelts the ground.
SUPERIMPOSE: “LOS ANGELES, 2014”
DANIEL JACKSON, a thirty-five-year-old Scottish expatriate with dark brown hair and round John Lennon glasses, walks alone down the street, miserably carrying a heavy book sack through the rain. Unshaven and clad in a faded green fishing hat and worn-out boots, he looks positively destitute; only the long cashmere trench coat he wears gives him the air of any respectability.
Turning the corner, Daniel passes by a pair of disreputable women – one short and skinny, the other tall and fat – and comes to a small grocery store. Readjusting the sack to redistribute its weight, the wet man enters the store.
INT. GROCERY STORE – EVENING
As Daniel enters the store, the shopkeeper – a large man with a shaved bald head and a big handlebar mustache – puts down his copy of Gamines Galore and firmly places his hands down upon the counter, greeting his customer with a large, toothy grin.
ARZUMANIAN: Mr. Dan, my friend, what’s happen’?
DANIEL: Amen ench shat ahavor ar. Nrank char hasskanum yes enchkar khalatse em. (beat) So, I was hoping to get a bottle of wine, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.
ARZUMANIAN: I got idea. Yes kpoknem. You come in next day, I tell you. Okay?
DANIEL: I’ll be here. Thanks.
EXT. GROCERY STORE – EVENING
Daniel exits the store, a bottle of cheap red wine in a paper bag in his hand. Stuffing the bottle into one of his coat pockets, he again readjusts his sack and continues on his way.
EXT. TKENCHENKO’S TIRES – EVENING
Daniel walks across a largely empty parking lot to the open doors of Tkenchenko’s Tires, a seedy-looking garage set in a short, squat building. Stepping inside, he walks past the owner, Vladimir Tkenchenko, who is busy working on a rusty Lexus. Seeing the sodden man in his pitiful hat and boots, the mechanic shakes his balding head with disapproval.
Ignoring Tkenchenko, Daniel crosses over to the shop’s business counter. There, filing her long, red-violet nails with her red-violet lips upturned in a smile of contentment, is a pretty woman; sporting blonde-streaked brown hair and garbed in a bosom-hugging red-violet sweater, she’s not much younger than Daniel.
DANIEL: Any mail for me, Svetlana?
Svetlana, noticing Daniel for the first time, abruptly stops filing her nails, chipping one of them in the process. The smile quickly disappears from her face.
SVETLANA: Goddammit, Daniel! Look what you made me do! (beat) I just got a manicure!
DANIEL: Why’re you filing your nails if you just got a manicure?
SVETLANA: (narrows her eyes) Shut up.
Svetlana reaches under the counter and brings out two items of mail. She hands them to Daniel.
DANIEL: (half-smiles) Isn’t tonight Thai night?
SVETLANA: Get bent.
DANIEL: You weren’t saying that five months ago.
Frowning, Svetlana doesn’t say another word. Taking out her iPod, she puts the earbuds in her ears and turns it on, ignoring Daniel once again.
DANIEL: It’s been a pleasure, Sweet Svetlana.
Turning his back to the cold woman, Daniel begins going through his mail. The first item is a phone bill with the words “FINAL WARNING” printed in big red letters at the top, the second a missing children’s card. Sighing dispassionately, he stuffs the items into a coat pocket – not the one holding the booze – then leaves the garage, stepping back out into the pouring rain.
Taking a seat on a pile of beat-up old tires, Daniel spots a filthy homeless man arguing with a cat and a tough-looking chauffeur guarding a sleek limousine across the street. Sighing again, he props his chin up on his balled fists.
DISEMBODIED VOICE #1: (V.O.) Ignores long established facts ….
DISEMBODIED VOICE #2: (V.O.) Jackson is either misguided and incompetent or he is engaging in substance abuse ….
DISEMBODIED VOICE #3: (V.O.) This is the sort of archaeology we expect to find in The National Enquirer ….