Prophet – Page 118

 

MAN

Hey, Mati!

 

Mati keeps walking, seemingly ignoring the man. The car crawls alongside him.

 

MAN (persistently)

Mati! Stop for a moment. My boss wants to talk to you.

 

Mati hesitates, his eyes suspiciously scanning the limousine and its occupants.

 

MATI

What's the matter?

 

MAN

Come on, come on, get into the car. Don't be afraid.

 

Mati hesitates for a second or two. He glances around, finding the street empty. He enters the luxurious rear entrance of the limousine.

 

INT. NIGHT. BACKSEAT OF THE LIMOUSINE.

Mati sits in a spacious, white leather-upholstered seat, with his walking stick resting between his legs. One hand lies on the handle of the stick, a sign that he is vigilant. About three-quarters of a meter away sits the head of the mafia, a man of medium size, physically strong, with fleshly and alert features. When he opens his mouth to smile at Mati, one can see that his teeth resemble a horse's teeth, some of them even crooked from various brawls he had been through.

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The script “Journey” is under translation.

 
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