An American Iliad
Based on the novel « Silent »
and Robert S. Henderson
Quai des Houillères
2000 All rights reserved by / Tous droits réservés
par Jean-François Virey
THE DEPOT - NIGHT (FULL MOON)
in the outskirts of Boston, the Depot consists of
several rows of warehouses hemmed in by a wire fence.
car drives in and parks outside the gate on the deserted
parking lot. A man (PATRICK ROCCIO) gets out, in his
mid-twenties, dressed in a business suit, with a youthful
air of self-confidence and enthusiasm on his beautiful
walks to a lit guards’ house and shakes the
hand of the guard sitting behind the counter.
INT. THE DEPOT - NIGHT
guard barely looks at him, intently watching THE SIMPSONS
on a small, almost mute black and white TV set, surrounded
by several surveillance screens.
(Not lifting his eyes from the screen)
Homer’s on. Wanna watch ?
Nah. I prefer doing it.
smile at the joke. Roccio leans over the counter to
take a lamp and a belt with a well-furnished key-ring
and a walkie-talkie. As he turns around to exit the
guard’s house, the guard picks up a bag from
Oh ! Thresher left this for you.
opens the bag and draws out a bulletproof plastron
– definitely state-of-the-art police equipment.
off his vest, he puts the plastron on.
You've gotta love the woman.
puts his vest back on over the plastron and exits
the guard’s room with his keys and lamp.
EXT. THE INNER AREA OF THE DEPOT - NIGHT
a cigarette, Roccio walks in the middle of the central
alley, leisurely, listening to the distant bustle
of the city, watching a helicopter fly over the harbour.
he hears the sound of broken glass coming from one
of the warehouses. He picks up the walkie-talkie.
I heard some noise in Four. I’m going in.
(in no hurry to answer)
smiles, probably expecting to find some rat. He circles
the warehouse, and notices that one of the windows
is slightly ajar, about four meters above the ground.
Switching off his lamp and drawing his gun, he enters
the warehouse silently by a man-sized door at the
INT. WAREHOUSE 4 - NIGHT
hears men whispering and the sound of metal grating
on metal. As he walks to the end of one of the alleys,
he sees two figures busy picking the lock on a reinforced
cupboard. The two men are bikers, wearing ski-masks.
Roccio switches on the lamp in the bikers’ direction.
They freeze fatalistically.
Stay calm. I have a gun pointed at you, but I’m
not gonna use it so long as you play along. Put your
hands behind your necks.
bikers do as he says.
All right. Now turn your backs to me.
they turn round, Roccio sees the patch on Bassman’s
back. Its logo is a skull wearing a blue bandana and
a large golden earring, with fiery eyes staring menacingly.
The words « Street Gypsies, M.C. » are
sown in blood-red letters beneath it.
Now what do we have here ? Street Gypsies ! I’m
not sure Mr. Hellas will approve.
puts the lamp down on one of the shelves so as to
keep the Gypsies within the light and himself in the
shadows. He draws his walkie-talkie.
I’m ordering a pizza. You want something ?
he switches on the walkie-talkie, he hears a mewing
behind him : someone has been watching too many Bruce
Lee movies. He turns around rapidly, dropping the
walkie-talkie on the floor and breaking it. But in
the switch from light to dark he can’t see anything
and he barely has time to get one random shot before
the violent impact of a metal nunchuck cracks open
his skull and he falls dead to the floor.
and dressed in a sleeveless shirt, Bobby « MAD
DOG » Gomes is frozen in a Bruce Lee position,
his muscles taut, with the eyes of a fanatic warrior.
This is no tongue-in-cheek impersonation.
two bikers walk to the corpse, taking off their ski
masks. One of them, BASSMAN, is a 6’4’’
Jamaican with pink and purple dreadlocks. The other,
a boy of 21, wearing the same long, jet-black hair
as Mad Dog, but with a face as beautiful as the latter’s
is ugly, and a Wild Bill moustache, is STRIKER. He
looks at the corpse, aghast, and swallows two pills
from a pillbox.
takes the key ring from Roccio’s belt and goes
back to the cupboard, trying the smaller keys.
out of his trance, Mad Dog puts the nunchucks in the
back of his trousers and kneels down, opening Roccio’s
vest to admire his plastron.
Nice armour, soldier. You’re gonna be very secure
takes it off from Roccio’s body, admiring it
with an almost religious feeling, and tries it on.
(not looking at Striker)
Get his ID, Striker.
face very pale, Striker puts his hand in Roccio’s
interior vest- pocket, searching for Roccio’s
wallet. He finds it and opens it.
Roccio… Patrick. Patrick Roccio.
No wonder the guy’s got premium hardware. He’s
Who’s Thresher ?
returns to his keys and finally finds one that fits.
As he opens the cupboard, the other two draw near.
(handing out two bags to Striker)
The squeeze who should have her name on these pills.
Ex-military. She’s with the Hellas Brothers.
Isn’t. They had a fall-out over spoils last
Maybe so. But as soon as she finds out one of us Gypsies
did that, we’re all history – whether
the Hellases are on her side or not.
they talk, they fill their jackets with transparent
plastic bags containing hundreds of small dilaudid
Let her come.
jackets crammed with the drugs, the Gypsies suddenly
freeze. The roar of several approaching cars can be
heard in the distance. They look at each other rapidly
and dash towards the door. Not knowing what to do
with the wallet, Striker drops it in a box on one
of the shelves and follows the other two.
EXT. THE DEPOT PARKING AREA - NIGHT
cars screech to a halt on the asphalt of the parking
area. The guard rushes out of the house to meet several
men carrying semi-automatic weapons.
EXT. THE DEPOT (INNER AREA) – NIGHT
out of the Depot by an opening in the wire fence,
Mad Dog, Bassman and Striker run to their motorbikes
over a small hill.
EXT. THE DEPOT - NIGHT
four of the men enter the inner area via the guard’s
house, three others run around the perimeter to have
EXT. A NEARBY ROAD - NIGHT
bikers kick-start their Harleys and dash off.
EXT. THE DEPOT - NIGHT
armed men hear the roar of the engines of the Harleys
and rush toward it. As they arrive atop the hill,
the motorcycles are already too far for the men to
shoot or even for the patches on the bikers’
backs to be visible.