Lethal Weapon - Screenplay By Shane Black
You are the 
person to read this script since July 7, 1999
FADE IN:
CITY OF ANGELS
lies spread out beneath us in all its splendor, like a
bargain basement Promised Land. CAMERA SOARS, DIPS, WINDS
its way SLOWLY DOWN, DOWN, bringing us IN OVER the city
as we:
SUPER MAIN TITLES.
TITLES END, as we --
SPIRAL DOWN TOWARD a lush, high-rise apartment complex. The
moon reflected in glass.
CAMERA CONTINUES TO MOVE IN THROUGH billowing curtains,
INTO the inner sanctum of a penthouse apartment, and here,
boys and girls, is where we lose our breath, because --
spread-eagled on a sumptuous designer sofa lies the single
most beautiful GIRL in the city. Blonde hair. A satin
nightgown that positively glows. Sam Cooke MUSIC, crooning
from five hundred dollar SPEAKERS.
PASTEL colors. Window walls. New wave furniture tor- tured
into weird shapes. It looks like robots live here. On the
table next to the sleeping Venus lies an open bottle of
pills ... next to that, a mirror dusted with cocaine. She
rouses herself to smear some powder on her gums. As she
does, we see from her eyes that she is thoroughly,
completely whacked out of her mind... She stands, stumbles
across the room, pausing to glance at a photograph on the
wall: Two men. Soldiers. Young, rough-hewn, arms around
each other. The Girl throws open the glass doors ... steps
out onto a balcony, and there, beneath her, lies all of
nighttime L.A. Panoramic splendor. Her hair flies, her
expression. rapt, as she stands against this sea of
technology. She is beautiful. On the balcony railing beside
her stand three potted plants. The Girl sees them, picks
one up. Looks over the balcony railing ... It is ten
stories down to the parking lot. she squints, holds the
plant over the edge.
GIRL
Red car.
Drops the plant. Down it goes, spiralling end over end --
until, finally ... BAM -- ! SHATTERS. Dirt flies. A red
Chevy is now minus a WINDSHIELD. The Girl takes another
plant.
GIRL
Green car.
She drops it. Green Dodge. Ten stories below, BAM Impact
city. Scratch one paint job. Grabs the final plant and
holds it out, saying:
GIRL
Blue car.
POW. GLASS SHATTERS. Dirt sprays. A blue BMW this time.
The Girl loves this game ... her expression is slightly
crazed. She reaches for another plant -- There arent any.
Her smile fades -- And for a moment, just a moment, the
dullness leaves her eyes and she is suddenly, incredibly
sober. And tears fill her eyes as she looks over the edge --
GIRL
Yellow car.
And jumps the railing. Plummets, head over heels like a
rag doll. Hits the yellow car spot on. She lies, dead, like
an extinguished dream. Still beautiful.
CUT TO:
EXT. BENEATH THE PIER NIGHT
FOUR TOUGH-LOOKING DOCK WORKERS are camped out under the
pier, warming themselves around a small bonfire, laughing
loudly. Christmas decorations dangle above them from the
pier, and empty beer cans litter the sand around them.
CAMERA PUSHES IN to discover an old collie tied to one of
the pilings. Then we realize that the dog is being tor-
mented by the dock workers. They flick lighted matches at
him. Shake their beers and spray him in the face. These
guys are not rocket scientists. The dog cowers, tugging bn
the rope. Tries to get away. All to the great amusement of
its tormentors. One of them turns, laughing -- As a shadowy
FIGURE strides calmly up to the fire: Long hair. Cigarette
dangling from-lower lip. Shirt-tails hanging loose below
the waist. Nothing threatening in his manner as he plops
down beside the men, smiling. They are immediately on
their guard.
RIGGS (FIGURE)
Happy holidays. Mind if I join you?
PUNK #1
Yes.
PUNK #2
Fuck off.
Riggs smiles at him innocently. Strokes the collies fur
with one hand.
With the other, he reaches intb a paper sack and produces,
a spanking new bottle of Jack Daniels, possibly the finest
drink mankind has yet produced.
RIGGS
I need help drinking this. Cool?
The dock workers exchange glances. There seems to be no
harm in this. One of them frowns:
PUNK #1
You a homo?
RIGGS
Do I look like a homo?
PUNK #1
You got long hair. Homos got long
hair.
PUNK #3
I hate homos. Arrggh.
Riggs shakes his head, laughs.
RIGGS
Boy, you guys are terrific. You make
me laugh, you just do.
At which point, appropriately enough, Punk #4 shakes a beer
and sprays it in the old collies face. The DOG pulls away,
WHINING. Riggs leans forward.
RIGGS
This your dog? Nice dog.
And then, he proceeds to do a peculiar thing: He starts to
talk to the dog -- in what seems to be the dogs own
language. Very weird, folks... He coos, snuffles, barks
softly, then withdraws, listening, his ear to the dogs
muzzle. Riggs nods. Frowns. The others look on, puzzled.
Then Riggs looks at each of the four dock workers.
RIGGS
Huh- You know what? He says he
doesnt want you to spray beer in his
face. He says he just hates that.
A pause. Uncomfortable. Then --
PUNK #1
Oh, he does ... ?
(beat)
Well, mister, why dont you ask him
what he likes...?
The others snicker. Riggs simply nods.
RIGGS
Okay.
And once again, begins to confer with the dog. Listens
intently, piecing together what he is hearing.
RIGGS
What ... ? You want ... oh. Oh, hell
no, I couldnt do that ... Nossirree
bob, you little nut.
He ruffles the dogs hair. The men are more puzzled than
ever as Riggs turns and says:
RIGGS
(chuckling)
Get this: He wants me to beat the
shit out of you guys.
Everything stops. A cloud passes over the assembled faces
and a pin-dropping silence ensues. Riggs, completely
heedless, once again attends to the dog:
RIGGS
Whats that ... ? The one ... in the
middle... is a stupid fat duck...
What ... ?
(listens again)
Oh ... Oh! A stupid fat fuck! Right.
He looks up, shakes his head.
RIGGS
Boy, this dog is pissed.
The one in the middle grabs Riggs by the collar. Hoists him
to his feet. Gulp. Stands, staring down at Riggs, whose
eyes are completely neutral, like a snakes.
PUNK #1
Buddy, youre shortening your life
span.
He flicks open a mean-looking switchblade. Riggs is dead
meat. So why then, does he choose this moment to execute a
Three Stooges routine, consisting of nose tweak, eye
gouge, and rotating fist that bobs the dock worker on the
head... ? Hes nuts or something ... Riggs steps back and
adopts a neutral fighting stance.
The others begin to circle. The DOG BARKS. Riggs turns to
the dog, but his eyes never leave his grinning attackers.
RIGGS
(to the collie)
Whats that ... ? You want me to take
the knife away... and break his
elbow... ?
Circling ... Riggs, watching them, his eyes beginning to
dance ... Breathing slow and even...
RIGGS
But that would be excruciatingly
painful ...
Something inside Riggs is gearing up ... the others can
perhaps sense it, their smiles falter a bit, they crouch,
combat-ready... Riggs, eyes blazing ...
RIGGS
And if I separated the fat ones
shoulder... hed probably scream... No
doubt about it.
We know from the look in Riggs eyes hes nuts. He wants
the fight, badly, all four of them at once ...
And then Punk #1 springs... Big mistake. Needless to say,
mincemeat is made of the four meddlesome dog-torturers.
The beach is littered with their writhing forms as Riggs
does, finally, what he set out to do: Unties the dog.
Starts to go. As he does, he pats his shirt ... Pats his
jeans ... Realizes his wallet has flown free during the
fracas. Scoops to retrieve it from its resting place on the
sand, where it lies open, and as it lies open, yes, folks,
that is a badge we see. Riggs, we realize, is an officer of
the law. He lights a cigarette and notices the collie,
seated. Frowns:
RIGGS
Okay, skeezix. Go on. Get outta here.
He begins to walk away. The dog remains close at his heels.
Following him.
RIGGS
No, no. Dont follow me. Im an
asshole. Go away.
The dog sits obediently and Riggs walks away. He cant help
it, looks back over his shoulder... Sees the dog watching
him with a beseeching expression. Pitiful.
RIGGS
Aw, shit.
He signals the dog.
RIGGS
Awright. Move it. Lets go.
The COLLIE BARKS happily and dashes toward him through the
surf, kicking up sand and water. As they shuffle off
against the palm-lined skyline, we hear, supered, Riggs
voice.
RIGGS (V.O.)
So. You live in the area? Whats your
major ... ?
And so on as we ...
CUT TO:
EXT. MURTAUGHS HOUSE - PRE-DAWN
Palm trees cast shadows on the lawn. Toys, lots of them,
littered across the lawn. A Big Wheel, a G.I. Joe figure.
Christmas lights are strung across the eaves.
CUT TO:
INT. HOUSE - BATHROOM SAME
A real gun, a .38 Police Special, dangling in its hol-
ster from the back of a chair. Next to it -- A real badge,
gleaming in the light. It identifies its owner as LAPD
Robbery/Homicide.
ANOTHER ANGLE
A birthday cake comes INTO FRAME. A set of matronly hands
places it directly in front of --
DETECTIVE ROGER MURTAUGH
Seated in the bathtub. He groans, throws a towel over
himself, and mutters in mock indignation: Roger is tough:
An old-fashioned fighter, wears his past like a scar.
Piercing eyes; cynical. He is surrounded by his family;
wife and three children, names and ages as follows: TRISH:
Roughly thirty-eight. She used to be a stunner. NICK: Ten
years old. Precocious. CARRIE: Age seven. Eyes like
saucers. Adorable. RIANNE: Heartbreaker stuff, Seventeen.
Takes your breath away folks. The cake is a real beauty.
CARRIE
Make a wish, Daddy.
RIANNE
Go for it, Dad.
MURTAUGH
(smiles)
Go for it, huh...? Okay, Ill go for
it.
He blows out the candles. Applause. His gaze lingers on --
the cake. Or rather, the message scrawled atop it in icing:
WELCOME TO THE BIG 50 The presents arrive.
CUT TO:
EXT. SIMI VALLEY - MORNING
The scorched landscape stretches out beneath a lattice-
work of high-tension power lines. Only scrub grass grows
here. Rusted railroad tracks wander into the distance, and
nestled beside them, like the last stop before death --
sits a lonely trailer home. Battered TV antenna. A dirt
yard which houses a beat-up pickup truck. Dead garden
sprouting weeds. The ground begins to tremble ... like an
earthquake, RATTLING the POWER POLES, as, without warning --
An express TRAIN BLASTS BY CAMEPA and streaks past the
trailer at seventy miles an hour.
INT. TRAILER HOME
Now we are inside, the RUMBLING FAINTER ... And we are
looking at a tired, chiseled face. Etched with line and
shadow. Eyes closed, as the shadows from the speeding train
strobe across DETECTIVE SERGEANT MARTIN RIGGS. Morning is
not a good time for Riggs. The CLOCK RADIO suddenly BLARES
to life: Silver Belllls ... Its Christmas Tiiime in the
City... Riggs snaps awake instantly. Alert. Tense. Face
bathed in sweat.
ANOTHER ANGLE
He is not alone. In the doorway sits a thoroughly loveable
black Labrador. Sitting stock still. Staring at Riggs,
watching him sleep. Tail going thump-thump-thump on the
carpet. Riggs sits up. Stares at the dog.
RIGGS
Sam, today is the first day ... of the
rest of my life.
He lights a cigarette. Inhales. Coughs and hacks.
The TRAIN THROBS by outside, rattling his skull ...
CUT TO:
INT. MURTAUGH HOME - SAME TIME
And it is a typical morning for Detective Roger Murtaugh.
Chaos. The TELEVISION BLARES. Young Carrie Murtaugh wails
like a banshee. Her brother Nick tells her to shut up.
Trish Murtaugh is burning eggs in the kitchen. Roger
Murtaugh enters then, fixing his tie. The following
dialogue is fast and furious, tossed over the shoulder as
Murtaugh scurries to and fro, getting dressed:
MURTAUGH
Honey, whats this on my tie?
She looks.
TRISH
An ugly spot?
MURTAUGH
Thanks. Sharp as a pin.
TRISH
Im thinking of going on Jeopardy.
MURTAUGH
Dont take any questions on cooking.
TRISH
Thanks. I love you, too.
Carrie is still shrieking. Tears stream down her face.
MURTAUGH
Hey, kid, turn off the waterworks,
okay?
CARRIE
(points to Nick)
Daddy, he changed the channel!
MURTAUGH
NOOOOOO.
NICK
Shes a crybaby, Dad.
MURTAUGH
Mind your own busines.
(nods toward the TV)
Thats illegal.
NICK
Whats illegal?
MURTAUGH
Cant put a dead body in an ambulance.
This Kojak?
NICK
Starsky and Hutch.
MURTAUGH
Huh. Its illegal. Never put a dead
body in an ambulance, son, you got
that?
NICK
Sure, Dad.
MURTAUGH
Honey, wheres the spot remover?
(turns to Carrie)
Young lady, stop crying or Ill give
you something to cry about. Damn.
He dabs at his tie. Carrie screams. In the kitchen Trish
drops the eggs, swears. The PHONE RINGS. Carrie screams.
MURTAUGH
Thats it. Im gonna give you something
to cry about. He grabs a copy of
Newsweek and hands it to her.
MURTAUGH
Starving children. See? They havent
eaten, its very sad. Cry.
He moves away.
CARRIE
Daddy, youre weird ...
MURTAUGH
Thank you, Carrie. Hear that, honey,
the children think Im weird.
TRISH
Theyre bright children.
(hangs up the) telephone)
Honey, you know a man named Dick Lloyd?
Dont step in the egg.
MURTAUGH
Wheres my thinking? I shouldve
checked the floor for egg. Dick Lloyd
... ?
(beat)
Jesus, Dick Lloyd. Whats he want?
TRISH
The office called. Hes been trying to
reach you for three days now.
MURTAUGH
I havent talked to him in... shit,
twelve years? No, wait a minute, that
would make me fifty years old, that
cant be right.
TRISH
(smiles)
Youre not getting older, youre
getting better.
MURTAUGH
Inform the children of this.
(kisses her; heads for the
door)
Forget the eggs, Ill eat later.
TRISH
Whatever.
(beat)
Honey?
(as he stops)
How come I never heard of Dick Lloyd?
MURTAUGH
I never talked about him.
TRISH
Oh.
(beat)
Vietnam buddy?
MURTAUGH
Yeah. Vietnam buddy.
He exits the kitchen, crosses the entrance hall. Stops,
noticing Rickles the cat, who is happily munching on the
remains of Rogers birthday cake.
MURTAUGH
Hey.
He swats it aside. Pauses, his gaze lingering on the silent
message which gnaws at his guts.
THE BIG 50 ...
He comes out the front door. Flicks off the Christmas
lights, crosses to the car. Looks up, and sees -- his
oldest daughter Rianne. Jogging past. She wears an adorable
pair of dolphin shorts. Walkman headphones. She waves.
RIANNE
Bye, Daddy.
He waves.
MURTAUGH
(shakes his head)
Goddamn heartbreaker. Shes a
heartbreaker.
CUT TO:
SERIES OF SHOTS - RIGGS GETTING DRESSED
Riggs enters the living room, naked. Scars on his back, the
kind you get from knives. Runs a hand through limp hair.
Turns on the lamp. As he does -- the TELEVISION also
springs to life; hooked to the same circuit. Pops three
aspirin from a bottle. Chews them. Opens a bag of peanuts,
throws it to the big Lab, who gobbles them down. Eats a
sandwich, standing in the middle of his apartment. Looking
at the floor. What a lonely fucking guy ... Straps on his
gun. .9 millimeter Beretta, if it matters. Throws on a
jacket. Downs a shot of whiskey. Pauses, looking at a
photograph on the wall. Riggs, much younger, along with a
pretty and vivacious woman in a wedding gown: his wife.
Stares at the photograph. His fingers twirl the whiskey
glass with completely unconscious skill. Tense. Tense ...
twirling the glass ... RICHARD DAWSON DRONES from the TV
(our survey says -- !). Riggs slings the shotglass. Dead
center, SHATTERING the TV SCREEN.
CUT TO:
INT. POLICE FIRING PANGE - MORNING
Targets: Human silhouettes with kill zones numbered.
Murtaugh enters. Sheds his coat, unholsters the .38. Steps
to the red line. Shifts. Stretches. Cracks his neck. This
is a ritual for him.
He stops to examine his right hand, holding it steady
before his eyes. Except there is a slight tremble. Tiny,
but its there. He frowns. Braces himself: Cross-draws
with lightning swiftness. -- BAM! -- The sound is DEAFENING
in the closed room. A neat round hole appears in the
target. Perfect shot: a neat third eye. Murtaugh smiles.
Holsters his gun. Puts on his coat -- and sings softly to
himself:
MURTAUGH
Happy birthday to me ...
CUT TO:
INT. CAR - DAY
Sergeant Martin Riggs is driving. He looks like he hasnt
slept. He certainly hasnt shaved. The DISPATCH RADIO
SQUAWKS. He turns down the MUSIC from the car radio and
hears:
DISPATCHER (V.0.)
All units in the vicinity and Fourteen
X-ray thirty-one, shooting in progress
at Venice Beach, Washington and Navy.
Three victims down, PA en route
Fourteen X-ray thirty-one, handle code
three.
Riggs hits the gas pedal and PEELS OUT.
CUT TO:
EXT. CENTURY CITY PARKING LOT - MORNING
The sky threatens rain. Cars buzz by as the city awakens. A
section of the parking lot is cordoned off by yellow
streamers which read: POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS, and as we
watch, a black and white patrol car pulls up, admitting two
beat COPS and a young hooker. Her name is DIXIE, and she is
not happy.
DIXIE
Can I stay in the car?
COP #1
No.
DIXIE
Aw, cut me a break. I told you
already: she came out on the balcony
--
COP #1
(points)
That balcony ... ?
DIXIE
-- No, the Chandler fucking Pavillion,
of course that fucking balcony, and
then she jumped, and then I puked in a
trash can. Can I go now?
COP #1
Not til you talk to the Sarge.
DIXIE
Terrific. Where the hell is he?
INT. MURTAUGHS CAR
The sarge drives up and gets out. A BEAT COP Toes by.
BEAT COP
Happy 50th, Rog.
MURTAUGH
Fuck you.
He crosses to the two Cops and Dixie.
COP #2
Hey, Sarge.
MURTAUGH
Morning, Phil. Get some rain, looks
like.
(beat)
Hey, Dixie. Nice threads.
DIXIE
Hey, Murtaugh. Tell these bozos to lay
Off.
MURTAUGH
You. Bozos. Lay off.
COP #1
Had a jumper last night, Sarge. Dixie
here was walking by, saw the whole
thing.
MURTAUGH
You got a statement? Send her home.
DIXIE
Thanks, Rog. Im beat, you know how it
is.
MURTAUGH
Sure.
(points to her outfit)
All dressed up and no one to blow.
DIXIE
Youre hilarious.
She exits. Cop #2 escorts Murtaugh across the parking lot.
COP #2
Nice wholesome girl. She got a new job,
you know.
MURTAUGH
Whats that?
COP #2
County ceiling inspector.
(beat)
So. Fifty years old, huh?
MURTAUGH
Eat me.
They stop next to the Porsche. Murtaugh grimaces.
COP #2
Name is Amanda Lloyd, age twenty-two,
prostitute, one arrest, no convictions.
Born Tennessee, parents --
MURTAUGH
What was the name?
COP #2.
Lloyd. Amanda Lloyd. You know her...?
Murtaugh looks stunned. He speaks very slowly:
MURTAUGH
I knew her dad.
COP #2
Jesus.
(an awkward pause)
Vehicle is registered to her. She
landed right on top of her own car.
MURTAUGH
Find out who bought it for her. Her
sugar daddy.
COP #2
Take some looking into.
MURTAUGH
So look.
CUT TO:
OMITTED
INT. AMANDA LLOYDS APARTMENT - DAY
Murtaugh stares at the photograph we saw earlier. The two
soldiers. One, we can assume, is Dick Lloyd. The other is
Murtaugh. Younger, trimmer. He speaks into the phone.
MURTAUGH
Hello, honey ... ? Give me the number
for Dick Lloyd. What ... ? Yes, the man
who called me this morning. His
daughter just took a dive out a window.
EXT. CHRISTMAS TREE LOT - DAY
Martin Riggs and three lot employees are gathered around
the liftgate of a truck bearing a load of Christmas trees.
The truck shields them from the view of customers picking
out trees in the lot. The lot employees are actually DRUG
DEALERS. They look around nervously in all directions as
Riggs tastes a sample of their wares.
RIGGS
Good stuff.
DRUG DEALER ONE
You better fuckin believe it.
RIGGS
Okay. Lets do it. How much?
DRUG DEALER TWO
How much for how much?
RIGGS
For all of it.
DRUG DEALER THREE
You want it all?
RIGGS
Yeah.
(glances at the trees)
And maybe a nice big six-footer to put
it under.
DRUG DEALER ONE
The tree you can have for nuthin. But
the shit is gonna run you a hundred.
Riggs lets out a soft whistle at the amount.
RIGGS
That much, huh?
(digs into his pocket)
Okay. Lets see what I got.
He pulls out a roll of money and begins to count it out in
twenties and small bills.
RIGGS
Twenty, forty, sixty --
The Drug Dealers exchange dumbfounded expressions.
DRUG DEALER ONE
Hey, man. Hey!
RIGGS
Wait, wait ... shutup. Im losin
count. Where was I? Oh, yeah...
(continues to peel off the
bills)
... Eight, ninety, ninety-five, ninety-
six, ninety-seven...
(digs into his pocket for loose
change)
... Ninety-seven-fifty. Sixty. Seventy-
five. Okay, theres ninety-eight
dollars and twenty cents...
He is about to check his other pocket for change when Drug
Dealer One stops him.
DRUG DEALER ONE
Forget it, dumbshit.
RIGGS
Cmon. Im almost there. Gimme a minute
to --
DRUG DEALER ONE
One hundred thousand, you stupid fuck!
One hundred thousand!
Riggs is floored. He cant believe his ears.
RIGGS
Oh, Jesus ... I cant afford that. Not
on my salary.
(beat)
Look... lets do this instead ...
(pulls out his wallet)
I take your complete stash, okay? I
take it all. For free. And you assholes
go to jail.
As he says this, he flips open his wallet and shows his
badge. The Drug Dealers at first look startled, then
disbelieving.
RIGGS
I could read you your rights, but ...
nah. You guys know what your rights
are.
DRUG DEALER ONE
Fuck you, man. That badge aint real.
And you aint real.
DRUG DEALER TWO
But youre sure as hell one crazy fuck!
Riggs eyes begin to blaze. His nostrils flare. Like a
maniac, he lunges at Drug Dealer Two.
RIGGS
You callin me crazy!? You think Im
crazy! You, wanna see crazy? Ill show
you crazy! This is crazy!
Riggs then proceeds to slap and pummel the Drug Dealer in
the manner of the Three Stooges... complete with WOO-
WOO sound effects. But he ends the routine by pulling a
nine-millimeter Baretta from behind his back and pressing
it against the neck of Drug Dealer Two.
RIGGS
Thats a real badge. Im a real cop.
And this is a real gun.
(to the other two Drug Dealers)
Face down on the ground. Arms and legs
out. Do it now!
Dealer One and Three begin to follow orders but Riggs sees
a flicker in their eyes that him to trouble. He spins
around -- a FOURTH DRUG DEALER is behind him with a
shotgun. The SHOTGUN EXPLODES. Riggs ducks, allowing Drug
Dealer Two to take the full force of the blast in the
face. Riggs rolls in the sawdust
FIRING his BERETTA. Dealer Four takes a bullet between the
eyes. Dealer Two now has an AUTOMATIC RIFLE in his hand. It
CHATTERS in Riggs direction. Sawdust and pine needles fly
in the air -- but Riggs is able to blow him away.
One more Drug Dealer left. Riggs cant find him. His eyes
dart in all directions. Where is he?! Behind Riggs, thats
where! He presses a revolver to the back of Riggs head,
taking Riggs Baretta from him and tucking it into his
belt. Thats when:
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