you recording this?
move, bitch. he gets an extended play and the screen flashes "new record." nearby, a kid watching the game nods.
get that? ryan turns around to see chad has shoved the cellphone down the front of his tattered shorts. and he's freeballing it.
c'mon chad, i gotta put my mouth on that. holding a cup of soda between his teeth, chad pulls the cellphone out of his pants and hits "send".
watch it dude, i gotta return that thing in seven days.
nah, whenever i return it, i just list off why the phone sucks and they give me a new model. figure by the tenth time i'll have to go somewhere else. ryan's car finally crashes in a wall of flames. game over.
waterproof. but as soon as ryan covertly climbs onto the rail, his left leg starts trembling like crazy.
this is stupid. i could get killed. pick another dare. chad lowers the phone, irritated.
screw it then. in one.  two.  two and a half--
got any more? i'm here to help.
what's in 'em? chloe opens the box. hands him a "heal the bay" pamphlet.
cool, you're handing these out during the concert?
hell yeah. i'm all about "heal the bay. " his eyes ricochet off the pamphlet in his hand.
me an chad do the monthly cleanup thing, of course.  an awesome wing-man, chad appears over chloe's shoulder, pretending to read a pamphlet, but really holding it up so ryan can see it. piece of cake, now.
we've collected water samples with the stream team, raised money on the promenade.  i'm surprised i haven't seen you. he offers his hand.
ryan. she takes it.
you ever go up to santa barbara? my dad used to take me there all
the time. their pier is amazing, clear water, huge crabs everywhere, oysters right there on the rocks, starfish.  hard to believe it's the same ocean sometimes. he's managed to win her back.
sounds like a plan. there's a moment.  then --
i'll do it for you.  if you want.
sure. how much is the bill?
do you promise not to go anywhere?
okay, i won't be long.
dude, does santa barbara have a harbor or a pier?
dex, wassup? you won't believe the hotties i just met at the pier. smoking. you wanna meet them? yeah? well don't get too excited 'cause i need my money. ryan stops at a red light.
bullshit, you're not going anywhere, i'm pulling up right now. some ambulances speed by, sirens blaring. it's deafening. ryan lays on the horn. when the light changes, ryan peels away angrily.
what? yeah, you better be. and i need your shower, i'm talkin' code red stankage- the cellphone begins to crackle with static just as ryan drives under an overpass. suddenly -- the car ahead of him stops in the middle of the street. ryan notices too late and has to jam on the brakes. the car skids, he screams.  and comes to a stop an inch before hitting the other car's bumper. he lifts the phone receiver to his ear but the call is washed
dex? you still there? and as has happened to all of us, he loses the call.
damn.
sorry, got cut off. hey -- what's my caller id say? but there's no voice on the other end, only shuffling sounds.
yo dex?
hello? jessica's hands go suddenly still, then -- whoom! -- her head slams down into frame on top of the crushed earpiece, a desperate hope filling her eyes.
whatever. signing off- -- and is just about to hit end call when he hears a tiny female voice on the other end.
hello?
oh really? kidnapped, huh?
awfully polite kidnappers to give you a phone.  jessica's voice trembles uncontrollably. desperate, fearful and frustrated.
if you were really in trouble, you would've called the cops, not me. now i've got a real call on the other line--
hmm. sucks to be you. try crank yanking someone else. late.
dex?
awesome, i can totally use a credit card. tell me more.
-shucks, now's really not a good time, but why don't i get your number and get back to you later.
that's the office number?
why don't you give me your number instead. that way i can call you when you're having dinner with your family. a beat.
damn skippy. and that's when he notices the message flashing on the phone's faceplate: call on hold. ryan clicks the flash button to pick it up. and jessica is still there.
you still there? you're getting kinda creepy, lady. see ya.
oh, it's like that, huh? nice with the fake tears, lady.
you need acting lessons. now go take your meds and bug someone else.
no, actually( i don't. not with a hot chick waiting for me at the pier.
why, you writing a book--?
uh. johnny. johnny fountain.
well, i'd be damn impressed, considering she's dead.
how much?
sure you will. i'm hanging up now.
what do you want me to do?
i'm here.
excuse me, officer -- but mooney ignores him in favor of the three cops that suddenly need arrest sheets signed.
hey, i've got an emergency here -- just then, crewcut officer shoulders his way through with a cuffed crackhead trannie in tow. the trannie's wrists ache.
come on, man! i've got some lady on the phone here who says she's been kidnapped!
seriously, a lady was murdered!
take the phone and find out moron! a cop snickers somewhere.
where?
what? what is it?
lady, what's going on?! jessica drops the phone. has just enough time to shove it behind her before -- slam! -- the attic door swings open and two of the masked kidnappers stride in. when they reach her, they stand silently, trying to unnerve her.
oh shit.  panicking, ryan turns and walks, then jogs, then all-out runs for the station stairwell.
i know. i'm trying to get help.
it's just static. i'm running upstairs to the detectives. hold on, i might lose you for a sec--
wait, we're almost there.
well, what the hell am i supposed to do?! ryan looks at himself, standing on the stairs like an idiot.
jesus! i'm almost there! ryan checks the signal strength indicator on the phone. there's only one bar left. defiantly, ryan takes a step up. and the bar disappears. he quickly hops back down.
crap!
you're shitting me.
who? oh -- one-twenty.
good, then if i get a cop-- ryan exits the stairwell to find mooney -- but mooney's not there anymore! there's some new guy -- and he's swamped!
pick him up? hell no, lady! i ain't goin' nowhere else-- ryan tries to get the new guy's attention, in a dream.
but i'm in a police station!
i just got off the 405.
you've gotta chill! you're stressing the crap out of me! where the hell is a cop hiding in a speed trap when you need one? ryan takes a hard right, tires squealing. pushing it against his better judgment.
what do these guys want, anyway?
what do you do?
so your husband's like, uber-rich?
could they've mistaken you for someone else?
oh. shit!! ryan slams on the brakes and swerves to avoid hitting a group of workers -- and obliterates the bronco's passenger side mirror against another barrier -- ryan cringes with every muscle! and the mirror ricochets off the ground -- and smashes through the windshield of a recently waxed acura legend!
ain't that a bitch. as the heavily-muscled workers start running to beat the shit out of him, ryan floors the gas, sending a shower of wet asphalt all over the cursing workers as he peels away, crashing through a final barrier. more cautiously, ryan rounds the next corner and --
there's the school. ryan's right. just ahead, we see:
okay, i'm here.
five minutes. what's your kid's name?
ricky what?
ricky martin? you named your kid ricky martin?! why didn't you tattoo "kick me" on his ass while you were at it?
forget it. what does he look like?
they're all wearing blue shirts and pants! ryan turns down a hallway and we see that he's right. it's filled with identically-uniformed little boys. as a timid blonde boy passes in front of him, ryan grabs him and wheels him around.
ricky martin? the boy's eyes get huge. he tries to pull away.
no, kid, it's okay! i didn't mean to--
does he have anything else? a jacket? a backpack? what's his lunch box look like?
you don't remember your own kid's lunch box?!
ricky martin, where are you!? none of the stepford kids respond.
ricky martin?
i'm looking for a little blond boy-- --no, no! not like that!
oh shit.
ricky martin! does anyone know where ricky martin is?1 i can't believe i'm yelling this at an all- boys school. all hell is breaking loose. the kids ignore him. the huge gym teacher races after him. jessica yells in his ear.
yes. ricky! ricky martin!! ryan wades through the sea of uniforms.
no--! ryan tugs his arm free and races to the phone. the lcd display glass is cracked into a spiderweb.
jessica? you still there?!
no one's gonna get your kid! he's not slow, is he?
then he won't go anywhere with strangers.
what color?
of course it is. pan around to see what ryan sees -- three black cadillac escalades.
there's three of them. what's your plate?
like you don't remember the lunch box? or anything else about your kid-- oh, man. this is a prank, isn't it?
bullshit! oh, you're good lady. your friends too. getting me to scream out 'ricky martin' at a boys school. damn, you really nailed me.
i'm done being your entertainment for the day. i'm going back to the pier while i still have a chance -- -- and passes right by a blonde-haired, green-eyed, eight- year-old boy carrying a lord of the rings lunchbox. ryan hesitates and is about to stop the kid. but then decides "screw it", and keeps on hoofing. ryan rounds a corner to leave -- and is confronted by the gym teacher and a rent-a-cop security guard.
stalking?! no, i can explain-- the rent-a-cop mumbles into his walkie.
hey, hey rent-a-dude--!! hang on a sec! this is a huuuge misunderstanding-- a little rent-a-cop car pulls up in the driveway below. the security guard starts forcibly leading ryan toward it, but as he gets close--
oh shit! you just see that?! losing control of ryan, the rent-a-cop calls to his partner in the car.
goddamn it, that little kid was just kidnapped!! do something!!
don't worry, i can fix this.
it's okay, i can see them ahead.
okay.
shit! ryan slams on his breaks and is forced to crawl along at a ainful 25 m.p.h.  worse, he has his view of the escalade glocked by the bus' titanic silver ass.
damn! there's this stupid bus-- ryan jags left and right, catching glimpses around the bus of the escalade still ahead.
come on! but the bus doesn't pull over. ryan tries flashing the security car's clear bubble lights on the roof, but who the hell would pull over for that? the bus sure doesn't.
jesus.'
goddamn it!
no, i just almost got killed, is all.
thank god? that's nice. just then, the bus signals that it's pulling over.
hey, here we go!
no, no! just give me a second-- as jessica goes off, ryan tosses the phone down and focuses on finding the escalade. he floors the rent-a-cop car, engine clattering, to the intersection. ryan franticly searches in every direction, but the escalade is nowhere to be seen. he floors it.
jesus! where the hell did they go? dreading talking to jessica, ryan slowly picks up the receiver.
jessica, i--
are you high?! i just jacked a car!
what now? ryan pulls the phone away from his ear and checks it out.
great! now the battery's dying.
it's in my car! hold on. sfx: beep-beep! the battery indicator has lost another bar. ryan fumbles around in the armrest. finds nothing. opens the glovebox and -- a snub-nosed .38 special tumbles out.
jesus -- !
not exactly.  sfx: beep-beep!! jessica starts growing afraid.
well what the hell do you expect me to do?! just then, ryan rounds a corner -- and sees traffic gridlocked to a halt ahead. he tries to maneuver around it, but is almost immediately boxed in.
i know, jessica! the phone starts a steady beeping now, dying imminent. and traffic isn't going anywhere. ryan looks around desperately. nothing. no emergency lane. no shoulder. just a long drop down a hill to a strip mall below-- strip mall?! ryan scans it and does a double-take on one of the store's signs: "verizon wireless". traffic inches forward. now he sees an off-ramp a quarter- mile ahead -- but at this rate, it'll take forever to make it there.
you know that money you promised me?
i'm giving myself a raise.
mmmrrmph mrm mrmph! ryan is bounced around like a corn kernel in a popper until the car hits a jutting rock and -- whoooom! -- goes up on two wheels. it looks like it's going to roll but gravity brings
shit! ryan scrabbles for the phone -- but gives it up when he bounces over a rise and sees a billboard dead ahead!
whoaaaaaa! ryan whips the wheel and navigates the little car between the billboard's concrete posts, but -- wham! -- obliterates the rent-a-cop's bubble lights on the billboard's lower edge. somehow, ryan muscles the bucking econocar safely down the rest of the hill and into the strip mall parking lot, where it skids out.
jessica?! can you hear me?!
excuse me--
hey! hey! i've got an emergency here --
damn it, will you listen to me?! i've got a life and death call on this phone and my battery's dying! do you have a charger?
bu t-- !
help, i --
aw, screw this.  -- ryan pulls the rent-a-cop's big .38 special from his pocket and blows the smiley face dispenser to dust!
oh look! now serving thirty eight special!
whew! that was so no bueno!
among other things.  ryan glances at piles of phone gear he's appropriated from verizon. earbud mikes. manuals. reception boosters.
yeah, look, about that.  my-name isn't really johnny fountain.
it's ryan. ryan ackerman. i'm a bar-back. i'm twenty-two, and just a little freaked out right now. jessica is moved with emotion by his honesty.
oh shit!
oh jesus! oh jesus!!
goddamn it, listen to her! she doesn't know!!
oh shit! where's mute?!
jessica? answer me, goddamn it i soon, his voice pierces the suffocating gloom around her and she crawls desperately over to it.
you all right?! i thought they--
what are you doing? why'd you lie to them?
i can't tell. you seem pretty good at it --
you can't know that for sure.
wait, wait--!
it's suicide. they'll kill me!
lady, i've jacked two cars, been accused of being a child molester, obliterated a car dealership, and busted three caps in a verizon store. -- don't tell me i'm not trying! jessica tries another tack.
i'll get the phone to your husband, but that's gotta be it, okay?!
i'll be at the airport in twenty minu --
jessica, this car has a sewing machine for an engine! i can't go any faster!
jessica.  ? there's an emotional beat, then--
what do you mean--?
jessica, they have your kid. you had no choice.
1 know. i heard what they were doing to you over there. you held out for as long as you could.
jessica, listen to me. i promise you, i'm not going to let that happen. i could care less about your money. i'm risking my life cause i know i'm gonna get you and your family out of this. you hear what i'm sayin'?
jessica? are you still there?
listen dude, this woman's in serious --
jessica, don't hang up! you hear me?! whatever happens --
jessica?! jessica?! as ryan goes mental, a car passes him on the opp9site side of the road -- a new cadillac xlr convertible! inside is an appropriately asshole-ish looking guy. he could only be the british asshole.
gotcha. ryan pulls a harrowing 180 degree turn, barely missing an oncoming car by inches. he races up to the cadillac, which has a vanity plate that reads, "idol mkr." ryan looks through the window at --
give me that phone.  or i shoot your car! cowell is prepared to comply -- but suddenly behind them--
ain't that a bitch! ryan turns back to simon cowell.
out of the car! now! cowell all but dives out.
where's your phone?!
jessica?
you're okay. it's okay now.
i'm here.  oh shit! screeeech! ryan steps on the brakes, seeing something ahead. whip pan around to see what ryan's staring at. just ahead, jessica's escalade is pulling up to the curb.
your car's here. ryan pulls along side the red curb and watches as four tough- looking men exit the vehicle. we recognize them as greer, deason, ellis and hodges.
oops. excuse me. pardon me. my grandmother needs her walker.  soon, he makes his way to the front, right behind greer and bumps into him. as he does, notice -- ecu of ryan slyly slipping the rent-a-cop's tiny .38 special into greer's heavy motorcycle jacket. greer turns, glaring -- but no one's there. greer looks around, and there's a heart-stopping moment that we're afraid he's going to notice ryan, who now stands innocently the next line over-- --but greer's eyes pass right over him as he scans the crowd. ryan breathes a sigh of relief as greer finally turns away to walk through the metal detector and.
listen to me! they're clearing the terminal. before your husband passes me, what does he look like?
that's not enough! what's he wearing?
found him!
but --
holy shit, jessica, these guys are cops!
hey, can i go now? can i go?! the guard nods, and ryan takes off like a shot, racing back towards the bar. ryan spots craig martin outside the left field sports bar. ryan grabs him by the elbow and starts hustling him through the concourse.
shut up and keep walking. if they see us they'll kill us both.
your wife sent me.
would you hurry your ass?! you need to hide. they're here, and they're looking for you. they already have your family. craig looks at him, growing terrified.
in here!
it's okay. she'll explain it to you. okay, jessica, i'm handing you over now.
forget about the cash. just get you and y9ur son home safely and we'll call it even.
i know you will. ryan hands the cellphone over to craig.
i'm gonna be outside this door. don't come out unless i get you. got it?
shit!
change of plans. i need to get to downtown fast.
i'm already on my-- suddenly, the cab rounds a bend -- and grinds to a halt from backed up traffic!
you've gotta be kidding me! can't you back it up? the cabbie tries, but is hopelessly locked in by cars pulling up behind him. shrugs. about a hundred yards up the road, ryan sees the 4th street. figuroa exit. he's so close.
aw, screw this! ryan throws some bills at the driver, hops out the passenger side and starts running.
i have an idea.  ryan fights his way through the tourists to the elevator bay. quickly scans the directory. among the long list of cpas, there's a mailroom on the 3rd floor.
me?
sure, uh.  i'm supposed to pick something up for mr. fountain over at the bonaventure.
i'm not sure.  they said it was a contract, though, i know that, so what would that be, legal?
uh.  right. tracking number. it's looking grim. thankfully, the supervisor reappears.
i might.  maybe it's on the clipboard on my bike? ryan watches greer out of the corner of his eye as hodges and craig disappear inside the vault.
i, uh, may need to call somebody.
you believe this? everyone's got their head up their ass over there. the mail clerk ignores him almost as much as greer wants to. greer opens his cellphone to make a call, but when the signal is no good, he wanders outside the mailroom toward the window at the end of the hall.
screw the package. ryan stands and, unable to find anything better, snatches a metal hand truck sitting by the door, and as hodges walks by--
come on, let's go!
damn! --he turns around and starts running up instead.
sees greer and hodges coming. big-ass guns out and ready. shit.' the alarm bells scream. people start filling the stairwell on every floor. forcing his body to its very limits, ryan bolts up the stairs until he sees the roof exit on the next floor up. he shoves open the nearest door and continues running up to the roof. he slips out and silently closes the door behind him just as--
ho - shit! ryan bolts to the nearest bus stop just as a blue line bus pulls up.
thank you! as he flips it open, his eyes spot the laptop on the floor of the passenger seat. ryan thinks, pulls out his security dvd and pops it in. at first, the screen is a mere wash of digital gobbledygook-- and as ryan grunts with frustration -- --a hi-res quicktime movie suddenly fills the screen:
i'm so screwed. as ryan speeds away from the curb, he fingers his cellphone.
shut up and listen to me, asswipe. i got what you want.
you know who this is, shithead!
what--? who is this?
*59 a frickin' telemarketer? but i 159 just hit "last incoming call"-- ryan suddenly puts it together.
you bastard. the telemarketer quickly hangs up before it gets ugly.
feel like a trade?
gotta love modern technology.  my new phone knows the numbers of the last fifty incoming calls.
just the woman and her kid.
my name is f you. i've got your shit, pal, it doesn't work that way.
fine. your loss. nice talking to you. and ryan hangs up. he waits nervously, sweating, staring at the phone for the longest seconds of his life--
ring. c'mon, damn it, ring! ring! then it does. ryan waits a couple rings, slowing his speeding heart, then nonchalantly picks up.
put on a big ass ronald mcdonald smile, apologize to the kid and the woman and bring 'em to the santa monica pier.
dude, you're lucky i'm still talkin' to your sorry ass. you do as i say, exactly as i say, or i hang up now and slap this bitch on nightline, you know what i'm sayin'? there's a long beat.
done.
you let me worry about that. what's your cell number?
i can hardly wait. ryan hangs up. a scared, but satisfied smile.
you like it? happy birthday. thud. the friends' jaws hit the ground. and as they run to the cadillac xlr, ryan disappears into the crowd.
yeah.
first show me that jessica and the kid are okay.
yes. where are they?
hang on. okay, got it. greer muffles the phone against his leg. whispers to ellis:
yes. greer muffles the phone again. whispers to ellis.
no. put them on the ferris wheel. i want to see them safe first.
deal's changed.
i've been thinking. does me no good to hand over the dvd and then you and the funky bunch take us out. -x
like you swore to protect and serve? the reference brings greer up short. there's a moment, then:
and i'll forget a lot, too. but not until they're both out of danger. now pan around to reveal ryan among the crowd, wearing a surfing windbreaker; hooded with waterproof pockets -- but where's his cellphone? moving closer, we see ryan's wearing the earbud mike from the verizon store. with the earbud concealed under the loose hood, ryan looks like anyone else just watching the show.
your choice, man. the martins or the dvd. either way, i'm not hanging around any longer. you got five seconds, then i disconnect your ass.
one.  two.  on the other end of the phone:
three.  four.  --but ryan's got him by the balls. angrily, greer lifts his walkie.
not bad. most people never get past two. greer flinches as his own taunts are used against him.
oooh, i think i just pissed myself. ryan looks optimistic when hodges gets out and opens the back door. and just as he's on the brink of success--
chloe! get away from here!
go! now!!
it isn't safe to talk, get it? i -- people are after me!
let go of me! sonofabitch, let go!
aw shit.  ryan's world is spinning -- the noise, the crowds, the
think! think!
jess.  jessica? don't. jessica trembles with rage, a tear falls.
hey man, your shitty day is about to get a whole lot shittier. ryan flips open his phone and on the screen plays the security footage of the murder in the parking lot. we see that ryan must've copied the dvd with his videophone.
ain't that a bitch? and through the tears, jessica manages a laugh. a small one. but enough to let us know everything's going to be okay. and as we pull back on the scene--
it hurts.  but you're making it way better. i'm just glad it's over.
and to think this was our first date.
i do. don't ever call me again. a shared laugh, then as they turn to the television--