HUDSON HAWK

     A malevolently snobbish British Butler, ALFRED, enters in
     distaste.  He makes a stressful glance to three VANITY
     FAIRS on a coffeetable that has a photo of a MAGNETIC
     HUSBAND-WIFE-DOG COMBO with the caption: MAYFLOWER POWER.
     Hawk notices this.

                             GATES
               Oh, sorry Jeeves.  Gates-arita?

                             ALFRED
               I'll pass.  May I?

     Alfred takes the equestrian model and with a jeweler's
     loupe, studies it carefully.

                             ALFRED
               Ah, such craftsmanship.  Leonardo
               Da Vinci's last commission for the
               Duke of Milan.  Irreplaceable.

                             GATES
               Hey, Mr. French, I'm delirious
               for you.  Now where's my cut?

     With dignity, Alfred SMASHES the ancient horse over
     Gates's head.  Alfred rummages through the debris
     REVEALING a perversely labyrinthine CRYSTAL PIECE.
     (recognizable from Da Vinci's workshop).

                             GATES
               You son-of-a......I don't believe
               this!  You come into my house!

     Alfred pockets the goodies, but not before Hawk can give
     them a confused peruse.

                             GATES
               I ought to take Big Ben and shove
               it up your limey blimey bunghole!

     A blade slides down Alfred's arm.  Half-yawning, he...

     ALFRED'S 180 DEGREE POV

     spins before Gates and the bystanders behind him.
     THE BLADE goes back up Alfred's arm.

     The room's only sound is the stereo's inappropriate
     music.  Gates shrugs but his voice is off.

                             GATES
               Like I said.  Where's my cu-u-...

     Suddenly a line across Gates's neck turns red and blood
     begins to gush like a tourist attraction.  Gates crashes
     down upon the table holding the punch bowl and the stereo,
     sending it to the ground, cutting off the music.  The Dog
     Poker picture falls atop the carnage like a lid.

     Blown away, Hawk tries to wiggle his way out of the
     recliner.  Alfred pats some stain remover on the blood
     on his shirt.

                             ALFRED
               So much for his "cut."
                       (post-chortle)
               Excuse my dry British humor.

                             CESAR
                       (rising)
               Lovely work, Alfred, taking the
               Concorde back?

                             ALFRED
               Indeed I am, Mr. Mario.  I'm
               really racking up those frequent
               flyer points...

                             HAWK
               I hate to interrrupt you two
               lovebirds...

                             ANTONY
               You know, I think Gates promised
               Hawk a cut, too....

     The Mario brothers cackle out.  Hawk tries to flail out
     of his chair.  Alfred turns to him and flicks up his arm.
     Hawk sees his life pass before his eyes until he realizes
     Alfred is merely pulling him up off the chair.

                             ALFRED
               Ta ta, Hudson Hawk.

                             HAWK
                       (breathless)
               Too-do-loo, babe.

     INT. ALEX'S RESTAURANT--DAWN

     Hawk bursts into the bar.  Alex sits on a stool, reading
     the paper.

                             ALEX
               Did I miss anything?

                             HAWK
               Oh, not much.  Gates just had his
               tonsils taken out.  The hard way.
        
                             ALEX
               Geez, Gates was killed.  Who do we
               send the thank you note to?
        
     Hawk does a combat jump over the bar and begins to fiddle
     with the cappuccino machine.

                             HAWK
               The Butler did it.  Guy was a cross
               between Alistair Cook and a Cuisinart.
               Dude took Mr. Ed and humptied
               dumptied it over Gates's head.  He
               said it was made by, get this,
               Leonardo..

                             ALEX
                       (professorial)
               Ah yes, a rare Renaissance piece.
               Da Vinci's "Sforza," an equestrian
               model of a never executed statue.
               I consider it to be the prize of
               tonight's auction of objets
               d'equestrian.  Horse things.

     The cappuccino machine sparks.  A perplexed Hawk takes
     a couple extra seconds to back off.

                             HAWK
               Okay, you got me, Mr. PBS.

                             ALEX
                       (holding up newspaper)
               Morning edition.  Seems two thieves
               "attempted" to steal it last night,
               but thanks to three "courageous"
               guards, it will be ready for tonight.

                             HAWK
               "Attempted."  At-tempt-ted!  I'm
               not happy about having to steal
               that horse, but I do have my
               pride.  Face it, when it comes to
               burglary, and sex, I....

     Hawk takes the newspaper.  There is a picture of the
     Three Security Guards in a cheery pose behind the
     "Sforza."  Hawk squints to see that Security Guards One
     and Two are still wearing the thumbcuffs.

                             HAWK
               Boing.  Uh, this I don t understand...

                             ALEX
               Why try?

                             HAWK
                       (hurdling the bar)
               Because I'm tired of not
               understanding things.  Cops,
               Mafia, and butlers forcing me to
               bust my ass to steal something,
               which it turns out I really didn't
               steal--it's fucked up.

                             ALEX
                       (pulling back newspaper)
               You re not thinking of going to...

                             HAWK
               Alex, my man, it's time to play a
               little offense.  Where's your tux?

     INT. RUTHERFORD'S AUCTION HOUSE--NIGHT

     Dressed in a not-quite-fitting but suave tuxedo, Hawk
     enters the now well-lit auction house auditorium (chairs
     all set out).  Bored WORKMEN in coveralls lug equestrian
     items on to a podium from the familiar freight elevator.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               ...fan-taas-tic example of
               Florentine marble... Who will start
               at 160,000...160,000......180,000.

     Someone raises their paddle as Hawk passes beneath the
     hanging horses and finds an aisle seat near the stage.
     Hawk scans everyone in the room before coming to the one
     seated next to him, AN ENCHANTINGLY BEAUTIFUL WOMAN.

                             HAWK
               All these years of attending auctions,
               I still get goosebumps.  The paintings,
               the sculptures....the things that
               aren't really paintings or sculptures...

                             THE WOMAN
               .... the pretentious vultures who
               don't even look up from their
               calculators to see what they're
               buying.  Now that gives me
               goosebumps.  Auctions are
               disgusting.

                             HAWK
               I couldn't agree more.  Savages.

     The Woman laughs at his gear switch then catches herself.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               Lot Fifteen, an equestrian sconce
               attributed to the Cellini school..

     AUCTION ENTRANCE

     Big Stan, the hefty guard from the heist, enters the area
     wearing a blue ribbon.

     AUCTION AREA

     Big Stan is walking in back of the seated bidders:  An
     oblivious Hawk in the foreground starts to scan VARIED
     BIDDER-TYPES, raising their paddles to babble out dollar
     figures; a GAUDY ROCK STAR and his GLOOMY-CHIC ENTOURAGE,
     A KING FAROUK-TYPE with a BORED TEENAGE AMERICAN HOOKER,
     and a scary NORDIC PRINCESS in a monocle and a tiara.

     THREE STANDING ASSISTANTS frantically man a table of
     phones set up down before the stage.  One raises his
     arm.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               Sold!  To the caller from
               Newfoundland.

     A STYLISH FEMALE ASSISTANT takes out an impressive replica
     of the "Sforza" from the safe behind the podium and brings
     it to the Auctioneer.  The crowd a-a-hs... Hawk laughs
     and shakes his head.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUTIONEER
               And finally, Lot number 17,
               thought to be lost in the war,
               and again last night, the Da
               Vinci "Sforza," the jewel of the
               sale.  Fan-taas-tic...

                             HAWK
                       (re: Auctioneer)
               Is looking like a constipated
               warthog a prerequisite to getting
               a job in the art world?

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               There have naturally been questions
               of its authenticity, so to verify
               we have Doctor Anna Baragli of the
               Vatican.  Doc?

                             ANNA
                       (rising, to Hawk)
               Some of us warthogs are more
               constipated than others.

     Hawk uneasily laughs as Anna makes her way up the stage
     and pulls out a large magnifying glass.  A look of
     distress passes over her face.  Hawk closes his eyes in
     anticipation.

                             HAWK
               Oh, the shit is going to hit the
               fa--

                             ANNA
                       (suddenly serene)
               Fantastic.  Perfection.  The
               Vatican extends its jealousy to
               the lucky bidder.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               We'll begin the bidding at 82.5
               million dollars.  To you, sir.
               Eighty-three, Ninety--your bid,
               madame--Ninety point five.....

     Hawk opens his eyes in confusion.  He scans Anna coming
     off the stage, gliding toward the phone table.  Hawk
     floats into the aisle, curling toward her as she picks
     up a phone and murmurs into it.

                             DARWIN MAYFLOWER
               lOO million clams, Francesco!

     The crowd orgasms as Vanity Fair cover boy, DARWIN
     MAYFLOWER works the aisle, playfully mussing up the
     appreciative, tiaraed Princess's hair, giddily high-
     fiving the Rock Star, and sloppily frenching the Hooker.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               100 million dollars to Mr. Darwin
               Mayflower.

     Hawk turns to gaze at the enigmatically familiar figure.
     Anna looks up from the phone to do the same.  She
     swerves her attention to the back-turned Hawk.

     Darwin moves to one of two reserved empty seats as his
     wife, Minerva, makes her entrance par excellahnce.  She is
     outrageously dressed with a mammoth Tiffany watch that
     extends from her wrist down to, acting as a leash,
     her obnoxious little dog, BUNNY.

                             MINERVA
               Francesco, 100 million and one.

     Darwin, to the crowd's delight, holds his struck heart.

                             DARWIN
               Outbid by my own wench, quelle
               bummere.

                             MINERVA
               Poor baby..... Here, Bunny.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               Fan-taas-tic, the bid is at 100
               million and one dollars.

     Commencing a slow motion sequence, Big Stan comes out
     of the nearby office, zipping up his fly.  He immedi-
     ately scopes Hawk in the space before the stage.

     The Mayflowers lower themselves into their seats with
     devoured canary smiles.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               Go-ing!

     Big Stan pulls out his gun, untheatrically, as not to
     cause a scene.  Anna sees this and follows Big Stan's
     eyeline to Hawk.

     Hawk turns to re-pursue but stops dead at the sight of
     the gloating Big Stan.

                             ECCENTRIC BALD AUCTIONEER
               Go-ing!

     Big Stan launches a gallop toward Hawk, who spins and
     veers back round up the aisle.