The Ninth Gate
GRUBER: They expressed an interest in your whereabouts.
CORSO: And? What did you tell them?
GRUBER: That you were out.
CORSO: Anything else?
GRUBER: They asked if I knew whether you had recently visited Portugal.
CORSO: And?
GRUBER: I said that our guests do not make a habit of providing us with their itineraries.
CORSO extracts a 500 franc bill from his billfold and slips it into GRUBER’s hand. GRUBER acknowledges this largesse with a gracious inclination of the head.
CORSO: For what it’s worth, Gruber: I don’t know what they think I’ve done, but I’m innocent.
GRUBER (impassively): Naturally, Mr. Corso. All our guests are.
87. HOTEL CRILLON: FORECOURT EXT/DAY
We OPEN on the luxury hotel’s facade, which bears the inscription ‘HOTEL DE CRILLON’, then PAN DOWN to the entrance and the forecourt, which is accessible from the main road but separated from it by a long, narrow island with a cab rank at one end.
A hive of activity: HOTEL GUESTS come and go, the DOORMAN, a majestic figure in his gold-braided uniform, deferentially closes the door of a departing Rolls, a BELLHOP backs a guest’s car into a gap in the already overcrowded forecourt.
A cab drives up to the entrance. The DOORMAN opens the door, CORSO and THE GIRL get out. CORSO turns to pay the CABBY, the DOORMAN twitches an eyebrow at THE GIRL’s jeans and sneakers.
CORSO and THE GIRL enter.
88. HOTEL CRILLON: OUTER LOBBY, MAIN LOBBY INT/DAY
Visible beyond the outer lobby, which has elevators on one side and stairs on the other., is the palatial main lobby, with its floor and walls of honey-colored marble. That, too, is buzzing with activity.
CORSO and THE GIRL stand aside as an elevator door opens and some camera-toting JAPANESE TOURISTS emerge. Meantime:
THE GIRL What’ll you do when you see them?
CORSO (dryly): Hide behind you, probably.
They enter the elevator. The doors glide shut.
89. HOTEL CRILLON: CORRIDOR INT/DAY
CORSO and THE GIRL walk down the corridor, checking numbers as they go. They’ve almost reached the door of Suite 236-238 when it opens abruptly. They jump back in alarm.
A BELLHOP emerges backside first, towing a baggage cart laden with smart Vuitton suitcases.
CORSO and THE GIRL take refuge in a lateral passage a few feet to their rear as the BELLHOP sets off down the corridor in the opposite direction, leaving the door open.
CORSO pads silently up to the door and enters with THE GIRL at his heels.
90. HOTEL CRILLON: SUITE INT/DAY
A deserted sitting room with an old ‘Herald Tribune’ lying abandoned on the floor and two dirty coffee cups on the table. No sound, no signs of recent occupation aside from a thin wisp of smoke rising from the inefficiently stubbed-out remains of a small cigar.
The bedroom door is ajar. THE GIRL stands watching as CORSO tiptoes over pushes it open. The room is empty, the bed unmade.
CORSO: Downstairs, quick!
91. HOTEL CRILLON: LOBBY INT/DAY
CORSO and THE GIRL have used the stairs for speed’s sake. Panting, they halt at the foot of the last flight and scan the spacious but crowded lobby. it’s a moment before they catch sight of their quarry.
The MUSTACHE is standing at the cashier’s desk with LIANA beside him.
CORSO: C’mon. Better grab a cab or we’ll lose them.
Heads averted, they thread their way across the lobby and make for the exit unobserved.
92. HOTEL CRILLON: CAB RANK EXT/DAY
CORSO and THE GIRL have stationed themselves at the cab rank on the island. CORSO sees a cab approaching amid the stream of traffic and tries to flag it down, but it’s taken.
CORSO: Damn!
93. HOTEL CRILLON: FORECOURT EXT/DAY
Meantime, in the forecourt, the DOORMAN hands LIANA into the passenger seat of the Mercedes sedan while the MUSTACHE supervises the BELLHOP as he stows their baggage in the trunk.
A Rolls pulls up behind the Mercedes, closely followed by a yellow Lamborghini driven by a smartly dressed, mustachioed ARAB with a BLOND BIMBO beside him.
The ARAB gets out, leaving his keys in the ignition. Nonchalantly signaling to the DOORMAN to park his car, he disappears into the hotel with the BIMBO in tow.
The DOORMAN acknowledges his gesture before smilingly accepting a tip from the MUSTACHE, who gets in behind the wheel.
THE GIRL (O.S.): They’re going!
94. HOTEL CRILLON: CAB RANK, FORECOURT EXT/DAY
CORSO sights another cab approaching and cavorts into the roadway, waving his arms like a madman.
The cab honks and swerves to avoid him, obstructing some other vehicles, which honk in their turn. it’s empty.
CORSO: Bastard!
Frustrated yet again, he. retreats to the island.
Beyond his agitated figure in the forecourt, we see the Mercedes drive off.
95. HOTEL CRILLON: FORECOURT, CAB RANK EXT/DAY
With a screech of tires, the yellow Lamborghini takes off fast in reverse. Skirting the island, it backs out into the oncoming traffic. Then, slammed into first, it skids to a halt beside the curb at CORSO’s elbow. The passenger door opens, THE GIRL cranes over and looks up at him from behind the wheel.
THE GIRL Coming?
CORSO stares at her for an instant, then jumps in.
The Lamborghini sets off after the Mercedes, which is not far ahead. it threads its way into the stream of traffic, pursued for a few yards along the sidewalk by the wildly gesticulating DOORMAN.
96. LAMBORGHINI/PARIS STREETS INT/EXT DAY
THE GIRL is expertly piloting the Lamborghini through heavy traffic. The Mercedes can be seen a few cars ahead.
CORSO: Couldn’t you have pinched something a bit less conspicuous?
THE GIRL Don’t be so picky. Most people would give their eyeteeth for a ride in this.
CORSO surveys the car’s luxurious interior, opens the glove compartment, removes the contents and inspects them: some CDs, the car papers, a pair of expensive wrap-around sunglasses, an Arab keffiyeh.
97. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY INT/EXT/LATE AFTERNOON
Visible through the windshield, the Mercedes is cruising along several hundred yards ahead of the Lamborghini.
CORSO: We can’t sit on their tall forever. They’re bound to smell a rat.
98. FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
LONG SHOT of the Lamborghini accelerating to draw level with the Mercedes.
99. MERCEDES/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
The MUSTACHE, with LIANA at his elbow, glances sideways.
100. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
The MUSTACHE’s POV the Lamborghini overtaking with a figure in shades and a kefflyeh at the wheel.
It’s THE GIRL. She looks straight ahead as she passes. No sign of CORSO.
101. LAMBORGHINI/ FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
CORSO, who has been hiding below door level, sits up. After a cursory glance over his shoulder, he settles back in his seat and lights a Lucky, covertly eyeing THE GIRL.
THE GIRL How do I look?
CORSO: You look a million. A million barrels of oil.
102. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
The Lamborghini passes an exit. THE GIRL, who has discarded the keffiyeh and shades, is driving with one eye on the rearview mirror.
103. FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
The Mercedes indicates right, slows, and turns off at the exit.
THE GIRL (O.S.): Sit tight!
104. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK
THE GIRL pulls over onto the shoulder and stands on the brakes. Throwing the car into reverse almost before it’s stationary, she hurtles backward along the shoulder.
A couple of cars flash their headlights and blare as the Lamborghini reaches the exit and skids to a halt, narrowly missing a large truck that has beaten it to the exit.
105. LAMBORGHINI/EXIT ROAD EXT/DUSK
The Lamborghini crawls along behind the truck as it grinds up the single-lane exit road.
CORSO (impatiently): C’mon, c’mon!
THE GIRL blasts the truck with her horn and flashes her headlights. The truck’s only response is to slow still further before pulling up at a T junction.
CORSO (cont.): What in hell’s the matter with him?
Clearly visible in the glare of the Lamborghini’s headlights, an arm emerges from the truck’s cab window and gives a prolonged, one-fingered salute. The arm disappears, the truck moves off at last and turns left across the bridge spanning the freeway. The Mercedes is nowhere in sight.
The Lamborghini moves up to the T junction and stands there, engine purring.
THE GIRL Take your pick.
