EXT. DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT – DAY.

Exterior shot of the arrivals terminal at Denver International Airport. A large black SUV pulls up to the curb. Two men sit inside the vehicle, waiting patiently for the arrival of a passenger. The driver of the vehicle, an extremely large young white man, peers out the front windshield.

MICHAEL SCHOFIELD: So this should be a piece of cake. I just checked and his flight is right on time. He should turn up any second.

A hand reaches out and presses the play button on the car’s CD player, and the opening track of the album “40 Oz To Freedom” by Sublime begins to play.

SCHOFIELD: Again? Goddamnit, can’t we listen to something else?

SCHOFIELD takes his eyes off the terminal and glances at his partner, who has begun barking along with the first track of the album.

SCHOFIELD: Hey, hey, hey, HEY! What are you doing? Put that out! We’re at the damned airport! There’s cops everywhere!

SHANE RAY: [inhaling from a spliff he just lit] It’s cool, man, I got a prescription.

SCHOFIELD: You don’t NEED a prescription anymore. I just don’t want the extra attention.

A passenger emerges from the sliding glass doors to the terminal. He is dressed in a dark suit and a black trenchcoat, and his only luggage is a small carry-on bag. The man glances around and notices the black SUV, and makes a beeline for it. He pulls open the door handle and lets himself into the vehicle.

CHARLIE SLY: Mile High Delivery Service, I presume?

RAY: [offers fist bump] You know it, man.

SLY bumps him back as SCHOFIELD shifts the vehicle into gear and pulls away from the curb.

RAY: [holding in his breath as he offers the spliff to SLY] Welcome to the friendly…streets. You wanna hit this? Every ride with the Mile High Delivery Service comes with a complimentary…[exhales]…mild high.

SLY: Aw, many, I’d love to, but Tom Brady’s got a drug test coming up in a couple weeks. So I gotta keep my urine clean. Wouldn’t mind one of those beers, though [gestures at a beer can sitting in Schofield’s cup holder]

SCHOFIELD: Oh, that’s not beer.

SLY: It’s not?

SCHOFIELD: Nah, we just have to keep an open container in the car. Tom Heckert made it into Broncos team policy. I switched it with ginger ale.

SLY: [reaches into his jacket, removes a large envelope and hands it to RAY] Will this get me to Cherry Hills?

RAY: [taking the envelope, eyes widening at the wad of cash within] Are you kidding? This’ll get you to SodoSopa.

The vehicle merges into traffic leaving the airport and is soon driving along a busy arterial. SCHOFIELD drives carefully and competently. Without preamble a black Ford Econoline van passes them and pulls sharply into their lane. In the distance a faint booming sound is heard. It is repeated, followed by a sharper, but still indistinct noise.

SLY: You guys hear that? What is that?

RAY: That’s the bass line, man. Righteous. [sings along] ♫…As I was walkin’ down rubadub square…♫

The noise is repeated, sounding closer.

SCHOFIELD: No, I hear it too. That’s…

As the vehicle approaches a second van parked on the right hand side of the street, the black van in front brakes sharply.

…STOMP…

SCHOFIELD: [slamming on the brakes] Shit! Asshole!

…STOMP…

Another van approaches the stopped SUV from behind…

A fourth van pulls up and screeches to a stop in the left-hand lane, pinning the SUV in place. A masked figure leans out of the van’s window, brandishing a shotgun.

MIKE MCCOY: It would be best for everyone if you were to refrain from moving.

In the opposite van, another masked figure sits with a shotgun barrel pointed out the window while he stares at his cellphone.  The back door of the front van opens and reveals VARIABLE KANT, who is seated and levels a machine gun at the occupants of the SUV.  

VARIABLE: COOPER!  Pay attention!

COOPER: [looking up from tablet] Huh? Oh! [aims shotgun]

A final masked figure emerges from the rear vehicle carrying a sledgehammer.  He climbs on top of the SUV and begins pounding on the windshield, eventually smashing it enough that he is able to pull it completely out of the frame.  He cuts his fingers up quite badly as he does this, but is completely unfazed by the blood.  In fact, it seems to spur him into a greater frenzy. 

BOLTMAN: GOOD AFTERNOON, MY LITTLE DONKEYS!  NOW GIVE BOLTMAN THE BAG!

MIKE MCCOY: [cocking shotgun] You would be wise to comply with his request.

RAY: [holding out a ziploc bag stuffed to bursting with buds] Aw, man, not cool.

KANT: Not that, you idiot.  The asshole in the back.

SLY: [leans forward with bag, hesitates] This here? You know who this belongs to?  Ashley Fucking Manning.  This is Ashley Manning’s shit.  You sure you still want it?  You know what she does to people who steal from her?

BOLTMAN: BOLTMAN WILL TAKE HIS CHANCES!  HAND IT OVER!

SLY turns over the bag and BOLTMAN slings it into the forward van.  He then turns back to the SUV and begins rubbing his hands together.  Sparks begin to fly, and after a few seconds BOLTMAN puts his hands onto the hood of the car and…

A tremendous thunderclap booms through the neighborhood as the smell of burning electrical insulation fills the air and flames begin to flicker from under the car’s hood.  The five assailants return to their vehicles and race off.  SCHOFIELD, RAY, and SLY emerge tentatively and stare at their ruined vehicle as the distant sound of sirens grows louder.

—

INT. SCOTT HANSON’S OFFICE – DAY

PETER KING: Amazing! So then what happened?

VARIABLE: [flabbergasted] Wait, what?  You don’t know?

KING: Hmm?

VARIABLE: The cops came and arrested all three of them.  And Schofield rolled over and volunteered to testify against Manning and then Florio wrote that it’s Schofield’s job to protect Manning on and OFF the field, whether that means ten yards for holding or ten years for trafficking, and then Schofield recanted and started pleading the fifth, and then…wait.  How do you not KNOW this?  Do you not watch the news?

KING: Well, sure, but I didn’t hear anything about THIS.

VARIABLE: Let me get this straight.  Two NFL players and a courier carrying a shipment of performance-enhancing drugs to the residence of one of the most highly-regarded players in NFL history were robbed at gunpoint in broad daylight in front of dozens of witnesses and you haven’t heard ANYTHING about it?

KING: Oh, wait, was this that whole Al Shakira thing?

VARIABLE: Al Jazeera!  They reported on this nonstop for like a week!  We sent you the footage too – we sent it to all the networks.  Did you not even LOOK at it?

KING: A story like that…gosh, the NFL wouldn’t look too kindly on an organization that dragged their dirty laundry into the spotlight like that.  They’d probably cut off your access. So I can understand the other networks being shy about covering it.  But it’s a hell of a story.  I can tell you, if we had received a tip on something like that at NBC or SI, we’d have followed up on it.  It’s our obligation as journalists.  So my guess is, we probably never received the footage.  The post office is very unreliable these days.

VARIABLE: Yeah, but we followed up.  Your secretary said you had it and that she’d seen it and that it was “shocking”.

KING: She must have been mistaken.  She makes mistakes like that all the time.

VARIABLE: Yeah, but…

KING: [staring heavily at VARIABLE] All.  The.  Time.

—