The Fugitive Transcripts

EXT. BUS - TUCSON, AZ - DAY

FADE IN on a bus coasting through the city.  Just another Friday afternoon in 
downtown Tucson.  Kids play on a gazebo in a park.  A sidewalk vendor sells 
tacos and tamales.

								CUT TO:

EXT. REAR OF THE BUS TERMINAL - DAY

The bus, a huge Greyhound with multiple license plates, pulls up outside the 
terminal and brakes to a halt.  The door opens and the passengers disembark.  
We see them from the waist down: a stocky man; an Air Force officer; a couple 
of women with shapely legs wearing high heels; and a man carrying a large 
suitcase.  

The man with the suitcase is DR. RICHARD KIMBLE, a handsome, black-haired man 
in his mid-thirties.  He scans the area watchfully.  The deep, biting voice 
of an omniscient NARRATOR sets the scene as Kimble and the other passengers 
leave the bus and enter the terminal building.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Now six months a fugitive, this is Richard 
		Kimble with a new identity, and for as long as 
		it is safe, a new name: James Lincoln.  He 
		thinks of the day when he might find the man 
		with one arm, but now is now.  And this is how 
		it is with him. ... 

Kimble enters the terminal through a door marked TUCSON.

								CUT TO:

INT. BUS TERMINAL - DAY

A tense Kimble walks stiffly through the crowded terminal, trying to maintain 
his composure.  He's still learning the ropes of how to be a fugitive and we 
see it all through his understandably paranoid eyes.  KIMBLE'S POV:  a couple 
of Air Force officers walk past, one of whom seems to glance at him; a lanky 
man in a cowboy hat who seems to make eye contact and then looks down; a 
couple of uniformed Air Force policemen;  The Narrator seems to echo Kimble's 
thoughts.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Another journey, another place.  Walk neither 
		too fast, nor too slow.  Beware the eyes of 
		strangers.  Keep moving. 

Kimble keeps moving toward the exit.

								DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. HOTEL - DAY

Minutes later.  A neon sign reads HOTEL ENTRANCE.  We PAN DOWN from it to 
find Kimble, suitcase still in hand, approaching.  He sees the sign and 
enters the hotel lobby, pausing ever so slightly at the door.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		The right one?  Or will it be a mistake?  Is 
		this the trap where it will end? 

Through the hotel's front window, we see Kimble walk through the lobby.  He 
approaches the front desk, asks for a room, buys a couple of newspapers, and 
signs the registry.

								CUT TO:

INT. KIMBLE'S HOTEL ROOM - DAY

A moment later.  Kimble enters his room, (number 26), shuts the door behind 
him and locks it.  A wave of relief washes over his face as he looks at his
cheap, tiny quarters.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Safe.  For now.  

Kimble tosses his keys on a mirrored dresser and puts his suitcase on the bed.  

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Another room.  

Kimble sees the window shade is up.  He crosses to it.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Windows look out -- and look in.  

Kimble stares out the window for a moment before pulling down the shade.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Get busy. 

After turning on a bedside lamp, Kimble strips off his jacket, digs his 
toilet kit out of the suitcase, and heads for the bathroom.  He SNAPS on the 
light, approaches the sink, and starts to unzip his toilet kit when he stops 
to regard himself in the tiny mirror on the door of the medicine cabinet.  He 
puts a hand to his temple, examining his hair.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Look closely.  Be sure of this: they'll never 
		stop looking.  He'll never stop.  Not 
		Lieutenant Gerard.... 

Kimble takes a bottle of BLACK HAIR DYE and a dye-stained toothbrush from his 
toilet kit and places them on the sink.  He turns on the hot water.

								DISSOLVE TO:

INT.  DETECTIVE'S OFFICE - STAFFORD, IN - DAY

LIEUTENANT PHILIP GERARD, Indiana's finest police officer, stares intently at 
a transparent Plexiglass map of the United States.  Gerard has marked up the 
glass with grease pencil: several states in the western U.S. are circled with 
an X in the middle of Wyoming.

				GERARD
		Somewhere in here, I'm sure of it.

Behind Gerard, seated at a desk, is his boss: CAPTAIN CARPENTER, a huge bear 
of a man.  Carpenter rises and eats a snack as he confronts Gerard at the 
map.

				CAPT. CARPENTER
		What about Mexico?  He's near enough.

				GERARD
			(shakes his head)
		No.  He'd be "the Yankee" -- someone different.

				CAPT. CARPENTER
		Gerard, when are you due for a vacation?

				GERARD
			(grins)
		I'm not taking my vacation, Captain.  Later.  
		I will later.  

Gerard leaves the map and picks up a trio of file folders from a nearby desk.  

				GERARD
		East. South.  Midwest.  Every report verified.

Gerard fishes his eyeglasses out of his pocket and puts them on to read 
through a report.  Carpenter sits at another desk.

				CAPT. CARPENTER
		By the time you arrive...

				GERARD
		One day, he'll be there.

				CAPT. CARPENTER
		Phil.  From the very beginning... the arrest, 
		all through the trial, the appeals -- and the 
		accident -- why?  What is it about Kimble?

				GERARD
			(as if it were obvious)
		I enforce the law.  The law pronounced him 
		guilty.  I enforce the law.

				CAPT. CARPENTER
		What are you trying to convince yourself of?  I 
		remember his defense:  man with one arm running 
		from the direction of the house.  

Gerard blinks through his thick-framed eyeglasses.

				CAPT. CARPENTER
		Phil, I'm beginning to think you believe there 
		was such a man.

				GERARD
			(genuinely)
		No.  I-I did everything I could to find him.

				CAPT. CARPENTER
		Meaning that he didn't exist?  Or that he 
		escaped?  

Gerard lowers his head.

				CAPT. CARPENTER
		And if he did escape, the law made a mistake.

				GERARD
		Captain, whether the law is right or wrong is 
		not my concern.  Let others debate and conclude.
			(imperceptibly shrugs)
		I obey.  And when I begin to question, doubt...  

Gerard tosses down the file folders, removes and pockets his glasses, and 
returns to the map.

				GERARD
		I can't permit it.  Others found him guilty.  
		Others were about to execute him.  I was merely 
		an instrument of the law.  And am.  
			(beat)
		And Dr. Kimble must be found.

Gerard stares at the large glass map, pondering the good doctor's whereabouts.

								DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KIMBLE'S HOTEL ROOM - TUCSON, AZ - DAY

Kimble stares into the large mirror over the dresser, checking his black hair.  

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Ready?  A job.  What will it be?  

Kimble, newspapers in hand, sits on the bed.  He skips past the front 
sections of the paper and goes straight to the CLASSIFIED AD SECTION.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Make no mistakes.  Be ready for the questions 
		and hope there won't be too many.

Kimble runs his finger down a column of ads until he finds one that reads:

		BARTENDER -- Work nights.
		"The Branding Iron", 109 So.
		Scott St.

								DISSOLVE TO:

INT. THE BRANDING IRON - NIGHT

A saloon with a western theme.  Old-fashioned lanterns hang from the ceiling.
Not very crowded for a Friday night.  A stocky man in a cowboy hat -- we'll 
call him the COWBOY for now -- sits at the bar, nursing a drink.  To lend the 
joint a little class, an attractive woman named MONICA WELLES plays the piano 
on a raised stage behind the bar.  The boss is CLEVE BROWN, an affable man in 
a bartender's vest decorated with the Branding Iron logo. Kimble sits at one 
end of the bar. Cleve Brown gets behind the bar to confer with him.

				CLEVE
			(to Kimble)
		You fast, Lincoln?

				KIMBLE
		I worked in Reno.

				CLEVE
		Well, you won't have to be fast tonight.  But 
		tomorrow is Saturday.  Bring your roller skates.  

Kimble smiles -- he's got the job.  Cleve comes out from behind the bar.

				CLEVE
		Take over.  It's all yours.

Cleve and Kimble trade places.

				CLEVE
		Seventy-five a week.  You'll find a vest at the 
		other end of the bar.  Is it, er, Jim?

Kimble has to think for a moment -- is it Jim?  

				KIMBLE
		Yeah, Jim's fine.

Kimble offers to shake hands but Cleve declines.

				CLEVE
		Cleve Brown.  But we won't shake hands because 
		I might fire you tomorrow.  The waitress is 
		Evelyn, the lady at the piano is Monica.  
		Introduce yourself.

Cleve ambles off.  Kimble walks the length of the bar, past the Cowboy, and 
finds his vest.  He sheds his jacket and tie.  Both Monica, at the piano, and 
the blonde waitress, EVELYN, serving drinks at a nearby table, watch Kimble 
put a big black western string tie around his neck.  Evelyn joins Kimble at 
the bar as he puts on his vest.

				EVELYN
		Hi!  I'm Evelyn.

				KIMBLE
			(as if reminding himself)
		My name is Jim Lincoln.  

Kimble turns to check out the liquor, pausing to talk to Monica on the stage 
behind him.

				KIMBLE
		The boss said to say hello.  My name's Jim 
		Lincoln.

Monica doesn't respond.  But the Cowboy at the bar does.

				COWBOY
			(friendly, to Kimble)
		Her name's Monica.  Monica Welles. 

Kimble turns to the grinning Cowboy who fingers a silver dollar.

				COWBOY
			(very friendly)
		Plays beautifully, doesn't she?

				KIMBLE
			(nods)
		Mm hmm.

Kimble tries to familiarize himself with the bar.

				COWBOY
			(too friendly)
		Lovely, too, wouldn't you say?  Wouldn't you 
		say she was lovely?

				KIMBLE
			(amused)
		Very.

				COWBOY
		Well, how can you tell?  You just glanced at 
		her. You gotta look at her, Jim.
			(beat)
		Hey, Jim.  Scotch and soda.  

Kimble starts mixing the drink -- expertly, of course.

				COWBOY
			(off Monica)
		Give her one, too.

Kimble turns to Monica who coolly shakes her head at him and keeps playing.

				KIMBLE
			(to the Cowboy)
		She isn't drinking.

				COWBOY
		Maybe she would if you bought it, huh?  I'll 
		pay for it.

Cowboy puts a stack of silver dollars on the bar.  He flicks one of them into 
Kimble's chest.  It CLINKS loudly on the countertop.  An increasingly annoyed 
Kimble hands the Cowboy his scotch and soda.

				KIMBLE
		She doesn't want a drink.

				COWBOY
		You have one.

				KIMBLE
		Make it a rule never to, uh, drink when I'm 
		working.

				COWBOY
		That's a real dandy rule.  You make that up all 
		by yourself?

				CLEVE (o.s.)
		Jim.

Kimble turns from the Cowboy to join Cleve at the far end of the bar.

				CLEVE
			(to Kimble)
		'Bout now I usually have a so-called meal from 
		our so-called kitchen.  You want something?

				KIMBLE
		No, thanks.  
			(off the Cowboy)
		You know that fella back there?

				CLEVE
		No.  Why?

				KIMBLE
		He's working pretty hard to make trouble.

				CLEVE
			(grins)
		Jim, for the price of a drink, he can buy an 
		audience.  On Monday morning, he'll have to 
		face whatever's bothering him.  But this is 
		Friday night.

Cleve gives Kimble a friendly whack on the arm and walks off to eat his 
so-called meal.  Kimble, shaking his head in disbelief and trying to suppress 
a smile, returns to his work.

				COWBOY
			(to Kimble)
		Hey, what were you saying to him about me?

				KIMBLE
			(affably)
		What makes you think I was talkin' about you?

				COWBOY
			(suddenly grim)
		I don't like you, Jim.  You wanna remember 
		that?  I don't like you at all.

A worried Monica's eyes go from the Cowboy to Kimble.  The Cowboy SLAMS a 
dime down onto the bar, picks up his silver dollars, grins, rises, and waves 
a finger at Monica.

				COWBOY
		See ya again, sweetheart.

Monica doesn't respond.  The Cowboy can barely take his eyes off her as he 
heads out the door.  A relieved Monica finishes the tune she's been playing.

				MONICA
			(whispers, to Kimble)
		May I please have a drink?  Anything.

Kimble registers mild surprise at this as Monica climbs down from the stage 
and grabs a stool at the bar.  He pours a drink for her.

				MONICA
		Thank you.

Monica drinks.

				KIMBLE
		Do you know that fella?  

Monica says nothing.

				KIMBLE
		You tell me if it's none of my business.  You
		know, sometimes these, uh, worshipers--

				MONICA
			(sharply)
		He does not worship me!  
			(more friendly)
		Thanks for trying to help.

				KIMBLE
		Meaning it's none of my business?

				MONICA
		Meaning it isn't fair to involve you.

				EVELYN (o.s.)
		One bourbon on the rocks!

Kimble crosses to Evelyn at the far end of the bar and starts to fix the 
drink.  Kimble stops when he catches sight of Monica.  Both Kimble and Evelyn 
watch with concern as Monica breaks down and weeps.

								DISSOLVE TO:

INT. BRANDING IRON CLOCK - NIGHT

Later that evening.  The clock reads twelve forty-six.

								DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. THE BRANDING IRON - NIGHT

Not long after.  Over the front door is the Branding Iron's neon light.  It 
flickers and goes out just as Kimble emerges from the building (the Hotel 
Santa Rita) wearing his civilian clothes.  He turns up his collar at the 
chilly desert wind and starts walking home.  But he doesn't get very far.

				MONICA (o.s.)
		No!  Please!

Kimble sees the Cowboy attacking Monica in the nearby parking lot. She tries 
to break away from the Cowboy but he grabs her, pulls her back, and presses 
her against a parked car.  

				MONICA
		No!  Stop!  Stop!  Please!  Please!

Kimble wonders whether or not he should he get involved.  The Cowboy hauls 
back and starts SLAPPING Monica hard across the face.  

Now, Kimble feels he has no choice.  He rushes to her rescue:  runs over; 
pulls the Cowboy off her; punches him in the mouth.  Cowboy goes down hard.  
Terrified and hurt, Monica leans against the car for support.  

Cowboy, down on one knee, raises his head to reveal a wickedly bleeding lip.  
He glares at Kimble.  Kimble stands by nervously -- what's the Cowboy's next 
move?  Cowboy puts a hand to his lip to feel the blood.  Kimble's ready for 
the worst.  But the Cowboy jumps up and heads off in the opposite direction.  
Fight's over.

While Kimble comforts Monica, the Cowboy gets into a fancy parked car, pops 
on the lights, STARTS the engine, and guns past Kimble and Monica, nearly 
running them down. 

Kimble watches as the car disappears.

				MONICA
		Please... no police.

Kimble's actually rather relieved to hear this.

				KIMBLE
		Have you got a car?

Monica shakes her head.

				KIMBLE
		Come on, we'll get a cab.

				MONICA
		I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I didn't mean to 
		involve you.

Kimble helps Monica back to the hotel.

								FADE OUT

EXT. MONICA'S APARTMENT HOUSE - NIGHT

FADE IN a few minutes later as a Tanner Yellow Cab pulls up in front of the 
El Capitan Apartments.  Kimble and Monica emerge from the cab.  Kimble pays 
the fare and escorts Monica up the steps.

								CUT TO:

INT. MONICA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Monica and Kimble enter, waking the middle-aged babysitter, MRS. BLAINE, who 
lies on the sofa in what passes for a living room.

				MONICA
		Is everything all right, Mrs. Blaine?

				MRS. BLAINE	
		Oh.  Oh, yes.  He's fine.

				MONICA
		Good. 

Monica starts fishing some money out of her purse. But Mrs. Blaine is already 
on her way out the door.

				MRS. BLAINE	
		That's all right.  I'll get my money tomorrow.  

Mrs. Blaine sees the nasty bruise on Monica's cheek.

				MRS. BLAINE	
			(startled)
		Oh.  Well.  Good night.

				MONICA
		Good night.

Mrs. Blaine exits, leaving Monica and Kimble alone and feeling uncomfortable.

								DISSOLVE TO:

INT. MONICA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

A few minutes later.  Monica and Kimble sit on the sofa and drink coffee.

				MONICA
		When I asked you not to call the police, I had 
		a very good reason.  That man is my husband.

Kimble registers surprise.

				MONICA
		Want to leave now? Or stick around and hear the 
		story of my life?

Kimble wants to stick around.  He gives Monica a cigarette.

				KIMBLE
		Here.

				MONICA
		We live in Phoenix.  
			(corrects herself)
		We... lived in Phoenix.  

Kimble lights Monica's cigarette.

				MONICA
		About a month ago, I, uh, couldn't stand it any 
		longer, so I took Mark and came here and got a 
		job.  Doing the only thing I've really ever 
		been trained for.  Playing piano.

				KIMBLE
		But not in a bar.  
			(beat)
		Well, what was it you couldn't stand?

				MONICA
		His suspicions.  I, uh, I wouldn't mind it if 
		he had a reason to be jealous but he was simply 
		insanely suspicious.  
			(rises)
		When we were married, I was, uh, considered the 
		luckiest girl in Phoenix.  
			(pours herself some coffee)
		Ed was almost the -- his name is Ed --  almost 
		the perfect husband.  He was a little jealous 
		then.  But I-I was eighteen.  I was flattered 
		by it.  Month after he left for Korea, I found 
		out I was pregnant.  So happy, I ran three 
		blocks in the rain to mail the letter.  When he 
		wrote back, there was just a hint of an 
		accusation.  But I answered, pretending not to 
		notice and he never wrote that way again.  He 
		came home.  Day by day, he began to grow more 
		and more suspicious.  Violent.  His face changed.  
		He doesn't look like the man I married.

				KIMBLE
		And he won't let you go?

				MONICA
		No.  After a month of peace, he found me.  He 
		walked into the bar and he had a drink and left, 
		without saying a word.  [?]

				KIMBLE
		What does he want?

				MONICA
		To possess me.  To beat me.  And to teach my 
		son how evil I am.

				KIMBLE
		And you can't go to the police?

				MONICA
		I tried that.  He found out and found it very 
		amusing.  You see, he owns two hundred and 
		fifty thousand acres of Arizona.  He 
		contributes to charity and belongs to all the 
		proper social organizations...

Unnoticed by Kimble and Monica, Monica's young son MARK enters silently, 
wearing a robe, listening to the conversation about his father.

				MONICA
		... He has even been mentioned as a possible 
		political candidate.  When he's not home, he's 
		almost the perfect man.

				KIMBLE
		Well, don't you have any friends or family in 
		another state?  Back east?

				MONICA
		He'd find us.

Monica suddenly notices her son's presence.

				MONICA
		Mark!  What are you doing out of bed?

				MARK
			(to Monica)
		I heard you talking.

Mark stares at Kimble.

				MONICA
		Well, this is, uh, Mr. Lincoln.  
			(to Kimble)
		My son, Mark.

				KIMBLE
			(to Mark)
		My name's Jim.

Kimble smiles and offers to shake hands but Mark makes no move.

				MONICA
			(to Mark)
		Uh, you know, you, uh, should be in bed.  We 
		have a big day tomorrow.  Come on, honey.  Go 
		up to bed.

Monica leads Mark back to his bedroom as Kimble, hands in his pockets, paces 
the room, wondering what to do.  After a moment, Monica returns.

				MONICA
		I'm sorry he wasn't a little more friendly.

				KIMBLE
		Well, that's...  I think he did fine under the 
		circumstances.  Now, look, uh, Monica.  I don't 
		know what I can do--

				MONICA
		No, no, it's, uh, enough just to talk to you.

				KIMBLE
		Well, then, maybe I could see you tomorrow.

				MONICA
		On Saturdays, I usually take Mark to Wonderland.  
		Helps him think of other things.

				KIMBLE
		Well, we'll make it noon at Wonderland.  Maybe 
		we can all think of other things.  
			(beat)
		I'll see you tomorrow.

				MONICA
		Good night.

Monica watches Kimble exit.  For the first time, there is a glimmer of hope 
in her eyes.

								DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KIMBLE'S HOTEL - NIGHT

Not long after.  An angry fist KNOCKS on the door of room 26.  It's the 
Cowboy, EDWARD WELLES.  He scratches his neck like an animal and KNOCKS 
again.

				KIMBLE (o.s.)
		Who is it?

				ED WELLES
		Ed Welles.

								CUT TO:

INT. KIMBLE'S HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

An uncertain Kimble unlocks the door and opens it, allowing Evil Ed Welles to 
enter.  Kimble just stands there with his hands in his pockets while Ed 
checks out the room.

				ED WELLES
		Now, I'm not gonna talk about you hittin' me.

				KIMBLE
		Then I won't talk about you hitting a woman.

				ED WELLES
		She's my wife.

				KIMBLE
		And that gives you certain rights?

				ED WELLES
			(laughs)
		You travel pretty light, don't you?  Come into 
		town and get yourself a little room, grab a 
		job.  Thinkin' 'bout staying long?

				KIMBLE
		I'd like to.

				ED WELLES
		So you can make more trouble.

				KIMBLE
		I didn't make it.  I walked into it.

				ED WELLES
		You walked into me, bartender.

Ed puts a lot of emphasis on that word "bartender." 

				KIMBLE
		Yeah, I've already heard how important you are.

Ed reaches into his jacket and pulls out a revolver.  Kimble's eyes go wide.

				ED WELLES
			(off the gun)
		I had that custom made for me.  Every bit of it.  
		Hand made.  You look at it.  Go on, take it.  
		Look at that workmanship on it.  

Kimble takes it -- reluctantly.

				ED WELLES
		It's loaded. I have to carry a lot of money 
		sometimes.  More than it's safe, you know?  

Ed takes the revolver back.

				ED WELLES
		Now, it's not going to do you a bit of good 
		trying to help her because Monica can go 
		anywhere in this world....  

Ed re-holsters his gun.

				ED WELLES
		She can go anywhere. And I'm gonna find her.  
		Sooner or later, I'll be there.  See?

				KIMBLE
		For another beating?

				ED WELLES
			(shakes his head)
		Not as long as she behaves herself. You know 
		what I mean.

				KIMBLE
		Welles, stop torturing that woman and child.  
		Get yourself some help.  See a psychiatrist.

Evil Ed winces and starts to freak out.  He talks through clenched teeth, 
moving ominously toward Kimble.

				ED WELLES
		You just said the wrong thing. Said exactly the 
		wrong thing.  And you said it and I heard it 
		and there's nothing left for you to do but get 
		out of my sight, see?  About a million miles out.

Ed abruptly turns and walks slowly out of the room and down the hall.  An 
angry and frustrated Kimble SLAMS the door shut.

								DISSOLVE TO:
   
EXT. WONDERLAND - DAY

Saturday afternoon.  An outdoor carnival: rides, games, circus clowns, you 
name it.  Kimble and Monica's son Mark ride the merry-go-round.  The ride 
stops and a bored Mark exchanges glances with Kimble.  Kimble offers to help 
Mark down off his horse but Mark hops off on his own.  The two of them step 
off the merry-go-round and walk together.

				KIMBLE
		I'm, er, not very good at picking rides.  I, 
		uh, guess that was kids' stuff to you, huh?

				MARK
		It was all right.

				KIMBLE
		I'm probably pretty square about what kids like 
		these days.  Uh, what do we do now?  Another 
		ride?  Something to eat?

				MARK
		Look, Mr. Lincoln, I know you want to talk to 
		my mom.  I'd like to go over to the batter up 
		game.

				KIMBLE
		All right, we'll meet you there.

Mark takes off.  Lost in thought, Kimble walks through the crowded 
Wonderland, past a balloon salesman, a clown entertaining a group of 
party-hatted children at a picnic table (must be someone's birthday), a small 
Ferris wheel, etc., until he finds Monica on a bench.  Kimble sits with her.

				KIMBLE
		Your son went over to the batter up game.  I 
		hope that's all right.

				MONICA
		That's fine.

				KIMBLE
		You know, I used to think I was pretty good 
		with children.  I don't seem to be getting 
		anywhere with him.

				MONICA
		It isn't your fault.  He's afraid every man 
		might be like his father.  Sometimes I think he 
		sensed the truth about Ed before I did.

				KIMBLE
		His father paid me a visit last night. He must 
		have followed us, and then waited, and then 
		followed me to my hotel.  The sum and substance 
		of our meeting: uh, he threatened me if I didn't 
		leave town.  So here I am.

				MONICA
		Oh, Jim, this is going too far.  You--

				KIMBLE
		All we have to do is find an answer.  I've been 
		trying.

				MONICA
			(realizes something)
		He threatened you.

				KIMBLE
		Under the pretext of showing off his custom 
		made revolver.

				MONICA
		Yes.  He showed it to me.  If he threatened you, 
		why don't you go to the police?

Kimble pauses and looks away. Should he tell her why?  He silently watches a 
clown leading a group of children past a boat ride -- normal people leading 
normal lives.  Monica senses something's wrong.

				MONICA
		Jim, what is it?

				KIMBLE
		I can't go to the police.  If you ask me, I 
		can't tell you why.

				MONICA
		I'm in no position to ask anything of you.  
		Except your help.

				KIMBLE
		Let's go get your son.

They rise and walk over to the batter up game.  Mark, baseball bat in hand, 
swings and HITS a series of balls tossed by an automatic pitching machine.  
Mild applause and cheers from onlookers.  Kimble and a proud Monica watch.  
After the last hit, Mark grips the bat with satisfaction, drops it, and runs 
to the BATTER UP GUY to accept a prize.

				BATTER UP GUY
		Well, you really belted that one, son. Here ya 
		are.

The Batter Up Guy hands Mark a goofy-looking doll of a ballplayer with a big 
bobbing head.  Mark takes it and stares at it proudly.  Kimble and Monica 
stand nearby.

				MONICA
			(to Mark)
		What a marvelous strike that was!

				MARK
			(joins Kimble and Monica)
		Mom!  Strike is when ya miss!

				KIMBLE
			(ironic)
		Yeah, Mom!  What's the matter with ya?
			(to Mark)
		What do you play, Mark?  The infield?

				MARK
		Second.

				KIMBLE
		You know, I used to play a little ball.  Ya 
		know how good I was?  My sister pitched.  
		Remember one game, a man came up and he said, 
		What's the score?  I said, it's twenty-two to 
		nothing but we ain't been up to bat yet.

Kimble and Monica laugh.  But Mark takes the story seriously and offers his 
doll to Kimble.

				MARK
		Here.

				KIMBLE
		Well, that's yours, Mark.  You-you won it.

				MARK
			(shakes his head)
		Kids' stuff.

Touched that the boy has reached out to someone, Kimble accepts the doll.  He 
and Mark exchange uncertain smiles.

				MONICA
			(to Kimble)
		What do we do now?

				KIMBLE
		Well, what I can do and what I'd like to do are 
		two different things so I guess we'll just have 
		to wait.  I don't know what for or how long but 
		we wait.

				MARK
		What are you talkin' about?

				KIMBLE
			(ironic, to Mark)
		Kids' stuff! 
			(upbeat, to all)
		Come on, let's get a hot dog.

Kimble, Monica and Mark head off through the crowds, past pony riders and a 
HONKING tram ride -- not suspecting that, just a few yards behind, Evil Ed 
Welles stalks them, scowling grimly.

								FADE OUT

EXT. THE BRANDING IRON - NIGHT

FADE IN on customers at the front door.

								CUT TO:

INT. THE BRANDING IRON - NIGHT

It's Saturday night and the joint is hoppin'.  Cleve Brown and Evelyn work 
the tables.  Monica's at the piano. Kimble's behind the bar.  Evelyn 
approaches the bar and sees Monica staring sympathetically at Kimble.  Kimble 
looks up and exchanges looks with Monica before loading Evelyn's tray with 
drinks.  As Evelyn disappears into the noisy crowd, Evil Ed emerges, a 
cigarette in his mouth.  He squints at Monica.  Both Kimble and Monica spot 
him as he approaches the bar.

				CUSTOMER (o.s.)
		Bartender, give me another!

Bartender Kimble doesn't move.  He just stares at Ed who grabs a barstool in 
front of him.

				ED WELLES
			(casually)
		Jim.  I'll have the usual.

				CUSTOMER (o.s.)
		Hey, bartender, give me another!

				ED WELLES
		And the usual for me.

Kimble grabs a bottle and leaves to take care of the customer.  Monica stares 
straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with Ed.

				ED WELLES
			(to Monica)
		Sweetheart, that's a pretty tune.  

Monica glares at him.

				ED WELLES
		Do I know it?

Kimble tends to the cash register and then turns to mix Ed's drink.

				ED WELLES
		You work hard, huh, Jim?  I don't know as I 
		could stand that -- people yellin' at me all 
		the time.  'Course, I had to put up with some 
		of that in the army.  You ever in the service, 
		Jim?

				KIMBLE
		Here's your drink.

				ED WELLES
		Down in Korea, in combat, they used to have 
		these loudspeakers and they told me all about 
		what was goin' on back here when we were 
		fightin'. 

				KIMBLE
		They used to tell you?

Ed points to his forehead and grins.

				ED WELLES
			(sharply, to Kimble)
		You have a nice time out there at Wonderland?  

Stunned, Kimble and Monica exchange glances.

				ED WELLES
		I saw ya.  You looked like you were enjoyin' 
		yourselves.  The three of ya made a... nice 
		lookin' family.

				KIMBLE
		Welles, I'm not going to pretend to guess what 
		makes you this way.  Your suspicions about your 
		wife are all wrong.

				ED WELLES
		I got no suspicions.  Facts, Jim.  

Monica watches Ed down his drink and then stare at the empty glass.

				ED WELLES
		You make real good drinks.  I don't know, maybe 
		it's just 'cause I'm in such a good mood I 
		wouldn't know the difference.

				KIMBLE
		Don't you ever think of what you're doing to 
		your boy?

				ED WELLES
			(smiles)
		Now, let's not spoil everything with a lot of 
		unpleasant talk.

				KIMBLE
		Welles, see a doctor.

				ED WELLES
		I'm in perfect health.  You've got no idea how 
		good I do feel. Well, good night, Jim.  

Ed rises, walks away, stops and turns to wave his cigarette at Monica.

				ED WELLES
		Good night, sweetheart.

Kimble and Monica watch as Ed walks out the door.

								DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. THE BRANDING IRON - NIGHT

The desert wind WHISTLES.  It's closing time, in the wee small hours of 
Sunday morning.  Their shifts over, Kimble and Monica exit the bar and 
tighten their coats around themselves.

				MONICA
		Oh!  These desert winds.

				KIMBLE
		There's our cab.

As Kimble escorts Monica across the street to a waiting taxi, an 
undistinguished car, parked farther up the street, STARTS up and pulls beside 
them.  Two men sit in front.  The man in the passenger seat gets out of the 
car and confronts Kimble who has just helped Monica into the taxi.

				SGT. BURDEN
			(to Kimble)
		The lady will leave now.  
			(politely, to Monica)
		Uh, police officer.  
			(to the cab driver)
		See me about her fare.  Ask for Sergeant 
		Burden.

SGT. BURDEN, the creepiest plainclothes detective in Arizona, gently pushes 
Kimble aside and closes the cab door on Monica.  Kimble and Burden watch the 
taxi pull away.

				SGT. BURDEN
		We'd be obliged if you'd get in the automobile, 
		Mr. Lincoln.  That is your name, James Lincoln?

				KIMBLE
		Yes.  Would you mind telling me--?

Sgt. Burden shows Kimble his badge.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Detective-Sergeant Burden.  Please get in.

Kimble and Burden get in the back seat.  The car's driver, a bespectacled man 
named FAIRFIELD, puts the car in gear.  They drive through the empty streets 
of Tucson.

								CUT TO:

INT. CAR - NIGHT

Sgt. Burden, sitting next to Kimble in the rear, introduces Sgt. Fairfield at 
the wheel.

				SGT. BURDEN
			(to Kimble)
		Ah, Detective Fairfield. He's from Ohio.
		Where are you from, Mr. Lincoln?

				KIMBLE
		Uh, Rockford. Illinois.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Care for a cigarette?

				KIMBLE
		Uh, no, thanks.

Sgt. Burden prepares to light up.

				KIMBLE
		Could you tell me what this is about?

				SGT. BURDEN
		Is this your first visit to Tucson, Mr. 
		Lincoln?

Kimble nods.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Ya like it?

				KIMBLE
		I haven't seen much.

				SGT. BURDEN
		But you've liked what you have.

Sgt. Burden lights his cigarette.

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		How do you like your job, Lincoln?

				SGT. BURDEN
			(to Sgt. Fairfield)
		Well, he hasn't seen much of it.  But he likes 
		what he has.  
			(to Kimble)
		Correct?

An increasingly nervous Kimble nods.  

				KIMBLE
		You know what? 

Without thinking, Kimble reaches into his jacket pocket.  Sgt. Burden tenses 
up.  Kimble senses this and slowly pulls out his own pack of cigarettes and 
shows them to a relieved Burden.  Only six months a fugitive, an 
inexperienced Kimble allows himself to talk too much -- rambling to cover his 
nervousness.

				KIMBLE
		It's funny...

				SGT. BURDEN
		Something funny?

				KIMBLE
		Well, I guess I mean, uh, strange.  An average 
		man, if there is one, is walking home and... 
		and the police pick him up for questioning -- 
		What's your name?  Where'd ya come from? -- et 
		cetera.  You know he's scared.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Is that right?  Well, I never knew that.  
			(to Sgt. Fairfield)
		Did you know that, Fairfield?

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		Now, why would the average man be scared of the 
		police?

				KIMBLE
		Guilt.  I guess there isn't a man in the world 
		who doesn't have something he wants to hide.  
		Even you two.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Now, that remark was not calculated to gain 
		favor with me.

				KIMBLE
		I'm sorry.  I guess these questions are just 
		getting me a little nervous.  You know, 
		Sergeant, you are pushing me around.  Gently, 
		but pushing.  Put yourself in my place.  I'm a 
		stranger in town.  No one to vouch for me.  No 
		friend who's a lawyer.  I can't demand a thing.  
		I just have to sit here and take it.

				SGT. BURDEN
		I wish I could argue with ya.  But you know 
		you're right.  I wouldn't want you to think I 
		was sadistic.  
			(to Sgt. Fairfield)
		Fairfield, do you think we've been unkind?

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		Maybe so, Sergeant.

				SGT. BURDEN
			(to Kimble)
		Well, some comfort to think we've saved you a 
		walk on a chilly evening.  Your hotel.

To Kimble's surprise, the car brakes to a halt outside his hotel.  A relieved 
Kimble senses that they're about to let him go.

				KIMBLE
		Um, I certainly appreciate it.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Not at all.

Kimble and Sgt. Burden exchange pleasant nods.

				KIMBLE
		Good night, Sergeant.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Good night.

				KIMBLE
			(to Fairfield)
		Good night.

Fairfield grins and nods as Burden and Kimble start to exit the car.

								CUT TO:

EXT. KIMBLE'S HOTEL - NIGHT

The car is parked out front.  Burden and Kimble emerge from the back seat and 
Kimble starts to enter his hotel.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Uh, Mr. Lincoln... 

Kimble stops dead in his tracks as Burden and Fairfield leave the car and 
join him in the hotel entrance.

				SGT. BURDEN
		I honest to goodness don't know what's the 
		matter with us.

				KIMBLE
		That's all right, Sergeant.  It's an easy 
		mistake.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Of course.  But we want to do the right thing.  

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		We'll see you to your room.

				KIMBLE
		Well, you... you don't really have to--

				SGT. BURDEN
		Mr. Lincoln.  We insist.

Reluctantly, Kimble allows the policemen to escort him into the hotel.

								DISSOLVE TO:

INT. KIMBLE'S HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

Kimble and Sgt. Fairfield look on as Sgt. Burden opens Kimble's suitcase and 
examines the contents.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Well, Fairfield, wouldn't you say it's about 
		time he unpacked?

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		Well, maybe he did, found he didn't like it 
		here, and now he's getting ready to leave.

				SGT. BURDEN
			(nods, to Kimble)
		I was born here.  I'll die here.  I'd like to 
		keep Tucson as clean as its air.  I welcome 
		visitors.  Most of 'em.

Sgt. Fairfield fishes a huge pile of newspapers out of the wastebasket.

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		Mr. Lincoln, you... you usually read every 
		paper?

				KIMBLE
		Well, that's how I found the job.

Kimble watches nervously as Sgt. Fairfield heads off to search the bathroom.

				SGT. BURDEN
		We've had a complaint against you, Mr. Lincoln.

				KIMBLE
		Complaint?

				SGT. BURDEN
		Mr. Edward Welles, Phoenix.  Claims you're 
		breaking up his marriage.

				KIMBLE
		His marriage is already broken up.  I'm just 
		trying to help his wife and boy.  They're 
		afraid of him.

				SGT. BURDEN
		That's not the impression we got from Mr. 
		Welles.

				KIMBLE
		Have you talked to Mrs. Welles?

				SGT. BURDEN
		We're not in the marriage counseling business.  
		Nor are you.

				KIMBLE
		I'll tell you this.  Unless that man is helped, 
		you might pay a very high price to find out 
		just how dangerous he really is.

Sgt. Fairfield returns from the bathroom carrying a bottle of black hair dye 
and a dye-stained toothbrush.

				SGT. BURDEN
			(to Sgt. Fairfield)
		He claims Mr. Welles is dangerous, Fairfield.

Burden and Fairfield grin wickedly at the bottle in Fairfield's hand.

				SGT. BURDEN
			(to Sgt. Fairfield)
		What've you got there?

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		Hair dye.

Both men, grinning like maniacs, turn to Kimble.

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		You use this stuff?

				KIMBLE
		Uh... yeah.  Last month, I-I saw a little gray.  
		I-I thought it wouldn't exactly help in finding 
		work.

Burden and Fairfield stare hard at Kimble who tries to maintain his composure.

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
			(to Sgt. Burden)
		Does a good job.  I don't see a single gray.  
		Maybe he worries a lot.

				SGT. BURDEN
			(to Sgt. Fairfield)
		Could be diet.  I read where a man can get gray 
		from certain foods.  
			(to Kimble)
		Are you eating right, Mr. Lincoln?

				KIMBLE
		I eat what I can afford.  I try not to worry.

				SGT. BURDEN
			(grimly, to Kimble)
		Leave Tucson tonight.

Kimble, looking like a whipped puppy dog, nods in agreement.

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		What's the matter?  We cost you a job in a 
		wonderful city.  Aren't you going to protest?

				KIMBLE
		I'm too tired.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Get some rest in another town, Mr. Lincoln.

Sgt. Fairfield hands Kimble his dye and toothbrush.  Burden and Fairfield 
exit the hotel room.  A defeated Kimble stands alone.

								FADE OUT

EXT. MONICA'S APARTMENT HOUSE - NIGHT

FADE IN a few minutes later as a Tanner Yellow Cab pulls up in front of the 
El Capitan Apartments.  Kimble emerges from the cab. 

				KIMBLE
			(to the cab driver)
		Wait for me!

Kimble runs up the steps and walks to Monica's apartment.  He KNOCKS on the 
door.

								CUT TO:

INT. MONICA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Monica runs to the front door and lets Kimble in.

				MONICA
		What did the police want?

				KIMBLE
		He convinced them I was an outsider trying to 
		break up his happy home.
			(beat)
		Monica.  I've got to leave town.  But if you 
		and Mark come with me, you might be worse off.

				MONICA
		I don't understand.

				KIMBLE
		My picture's in every police station in the 
		country.  Right now they might just be 
		realizing who James Lincoln really is.  A 
		convicted murderer.

				MONICA
		I don't believe it.

				KIMBLE
		I said, convicted.  I'm innocent.  
			(beat)
		I'm a doctor, pediatrician.  
			(corrects himself)
		I was a doctor.  My wife wouldn't have children.  
		She wouldn't adopt.  We argued -- too much for 
		too long.  One night, I walked out.  I got in 
		the car, I drove, I parked... just stared at 
		the river.  I remember a boy in a rowboat.  He 
		didn't see me.  After a while, I cooled off and 
		I drove home.  About a block from the house, I 
		almost hit a man.  A man with one arm.  He was 
		running.  I found my wife beaten to death.

				MONICA
		Who...?

				KIMBLE
		I don't know.  It had to be unmotivated.  A 
		vagrant, a prowler.  The police never...  That 
		was over two years ago.  Trial was a nightmare.  
		The neighbors had heard our arguments.  My only 
		hope was to find the man with one arm.  I was 
		convicted.  I sat in prison for eighteen months.  
		There were appeals.  They were taking me to be 
		executed when the train derailed.  Ever since 
		then, I've been running, hoping that someday 
		I'd find the man with one arm, a face I can 
		never forget.  I keep running and they keep 
		hunting.  One man in particular -- Lieutenant 
		Philip Gerard.  Sometimes I feel like I've 
		known him all my life.  Some nights I can't 
		sleep.  I hear his footsteps on the stairs.  I 
		see his face outside my door.  Gerard...

				MONICA
		I don't want him to find you.  

Monica and Kimble kiss.

				MONICA
		I'll pack.

Monica rushes off leaving a saddened Kimble alone.

								DISSOLVE TO:

INT. TUCSON POLICE STATION - NIGHT

Over a half an hour later.  In the detectives' office, Kimble's wanted poster 
is tacked to a bulletin board. But Sergeants Burden and Fairfield, on the 
opposite side of the room, pay no attention to it.  Burden studies a wall map 
while Fairfield pecks away at a typewriter.  A KNOCK at the door.  Burden and 
Fairfield turn to see Ed Welles enter and join them.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Well, how are you, Mr. Welles?

				ED WELLES
		I just wanted to stop by and say thanks.  Now, 
		I hope I'm not being premature, am I?

				SGT. BURDEN
		Not at all.  I explained to him how we feel 
		about the honored residents of our state.

				ED WELLES
		How'd he take it?

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
		Hotel clerk said he checked out half an hour 
		ago.  Probably buying a bus ticket right now.

				ED WELLES
		Uh, I wish I could express my gratitude in some 
		way.

				SGT. BURDEN
		We accept no bribery, sir.

Evil Ed looks offended.

				ED WELLES
		I didn't mean that, Sergeant.

				SGT. FAIRFIELD
			(tries to placate Ed)
		Sir... Sergeant likes to joke.

				ED WELLES
		Yeah.  I better get back to my family.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Oh, Mr. Welles.  Can we drive you?

				ED WELLES
		Oh, no, thanks.  No, I think I can handle this 
		little thing all by myself.  Good night.

				SGT. BURDEN
		Good night, then.

Evil Ed departs as Sgt. Burden, shaking his head, crosses to a coat rack next 
to the bulletin board and pulls some cigarettes out of his jacket pocket.  He 
walks right past Kimble's wanted poster and fails to see it.

				SGT. BURDEN
		I don't know.  You think you know this job and 
		all of a sudden you don't.  A woman breaks up a 
		fine home to play a piano in a saloon, take up 
		with a man she's known only a few hours.  I 
		feel sorry for the little boy.

								DISSOLVE TO:	

EXT. MONICA'S APARTMENT HOUSE - NIGHT

FADE IN a few minutes later as Evil Ed pulls up in front of the El Capitan 
Apartments.  He emerges from his car and walks up the steps, heading for 
Monica's apartment, nearly stepping on a stray cat as he goes. 

								CUT TO:

EXT. FRONT OF BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

A taxi pulls up in front of the building.  Kimble, Monica, and Mark emerge 
from the taxi with suitcases and enter the building.

								CUT TO:

INT. BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT
								
It's the middle of the night on a Sunday morning and the place is virtually 
empty.  A janitor mops the floor.  A couple of uniformed Air Force policemen 
hang out near the pinball machines.  Kimble, Monica, and Mark approach the 
ticket window.  But a woman with a bag reaches the window first.

				WOMAN
		One ticket to San Diego.

Kimble, Monica, and Mark wait impatiently.

								CUT TO:

EXT. MONICA'S APARTMENT HOUSE - NIGHT

Evil Ed KNOCKS on Monica's door.  No answer.  He POUNDS on it.  Nobody home. 

								CUT TO:

INT. BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

Kimble, Monica, and Mark continue to wait.  Kimble watches nervously as the 
two uniformed Air Force policemen study a nearby vending machine.  Suddenly, 
the woman with the bag has finished buying her ticket and rushes off.

				TICKET AGENT
		Thank you, ma'am.

Kimble approaches the window.

				KIMBLE
		What time does the next bus leave?

				TICKET AGENT
		Well, that would depend on where you wanted to 
		go, now wouldn't it?

				KIMBLE
		We don't care.  We just want the next bus.

								CUT TO:

EXT. MONICA'S APARTMENT HOUSE - NIGHT

Ed Welles runs back to his car, gets in, and drives away, tires SQUEALING.

								CUT TO:

INT. BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

The Ticket Agent fusses with the tickets. Kimble turns to reassure Monica.

				KIMBLE
		It won't be long now.

Kimble watches the two Air Force policemen walk over to an area marked:

SANDWICHES
COFFEE - CANDY
COLD DRINKS - ICE CREAM
CIGARETTES

The Ticket Agent hands the tickets to a distracted Kimble.

				TICKET AGENT
		Here are your tickets.

Kimble takes the tickets and gathers up the luggage.

				KIMBLE
			(to Monica)
		Let's go.

Kimble leads Monica and Mark to the rear of the terminal.

								CUT TO:

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

A grim Ed Welles sits behind the wheel of his car as it speeds through Tucson.

								CUT TO:

INT. REAR OF BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

Kimble, Monica, and Mark walk to a waiting Greyhound bus bound for San Diego.

								CUT TO:

EXT. FRONT OF BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

Ed Welles pulls up outside and enters the building.

								CUT TO:

INT. BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

Ed lurches up to the ticket window.

				ED WELLES
			(to the Ticket Agent)
		You!  You seen a man with a woman and a boy?

				TICKET AGENT
			(smiling)
		When?

Evil Ed grabs the Ticket Agent by the throat.

				ED WELLES
		Just now!

				TICKET AGENT
		Yes.  San Diego bus, outside.

Ed releases the stunned Ticket Agent and stalks off.

								CUT TO:

INT. REAR OF BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

The San Diego bus opens its door.  Kimble, Monica, and Mark join a handful of 
others in preparing to board.  Suddenly, the terminal door BANGS open.  It's 
Ed Welles, howling like a wounded animal.

				ED WELLES
		Lincoln!

Everybody near the bus turns to Ed as he approaches and stares at Mark.

				ED WELLES
		I'm glad to see you, Marky.  I'm glad you're 
		here.  This is what your mother is.  This is 
		what she did to me when-when I was in the army.

				MARK
		I don't believe you, Dad.

Ed glares at Kimble.

				ED WELLES
		You did this...

Ed reaches into his jacket for his custom-made revolver.  But just as he 
pulls it out, Kimble grabs his arm and pushes him back to another Greyhound 
parked nearby.  Pressing Ed against the bus' front grille, Kimble smashes 
Ed's gun hand into the windshield.  The gun FIRES noisily into the air.  
Monica, Mark, and the others cringe in fear.  Kimble savagely shakes the gun 
out of Ed's hand.  The gun skitters across the pavement and comes to a stop 
in front of the San Diego bus.

Ed elbows Kimble in the gut and runs off to retrieve the gun.  He dives for 
it.  Kimble dives on top of Ed.

								CUT TO:

INT. BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

The policemen and the Ticket Agent run to see what all the shooting's about.

								CUT TO:

EXT. REAR OF BUS TERMINAL - NIGHT

Ed kicks Kimble off of him and Kimble ends up with his back to the San Diego 
bus' grille.  Ed, gun in hand, rises from the pavement with a wicked grin.  
He points his weapon right at Kimble.  Kimble realizes he's about to die.  
Suddenly, the police arrive with their guns drawn.

				POLICEMAN
		Air Police!  Hold it!

Without hesitation, Ed FIRES at the policemen.  He misses.  They FIRE back.  
Ed is hit.  Hard.  He falls backward through a railing into a pile of trash. 
Dead.

The police, the Ticket Agent, and a small group of onlookers instantly crowd 
around the body.  Kimble sees his chance to slip away in the confusion and 
joins Monica who comforts Mark on the opposite side of the San Diego bus. 
Kimble grabs his suitcase and confronts her.

				KIMBLE
		Monica, if I stay...

				MONICA
		They'll find you.  And you'll never find him.

				KIMBLE
			(reassuring)
		You can go home now.  It's over.

				MONICA
		Everything?

				KIMBLE
		We won't forget.  That's all we're left with, 
		remembering.  
			(beat)
		Maybe...  

But Kimble can't finish the sentence.

				KIMBLE
			(to Monica)
		Good-bye.  
			(to Mark)
		Good-bye, son.

Deeply saddened, Monica and Mark watch Kimble walk off.  He stops and turns 
to look back at them for a moment -- just as the sound of a distant police 
SIREN approaches.  Hearing it, Kimble turns at once and disappears into the 
night.  As Monica puts a comforting hand on her son's shoulder, a police car 
and a police motorcycle arrive at the terminal.

								FADE OUT

EXT. CEMETERY - PHOENIX, AZ - DAY

FADE IN, days later, on some parked cars near a sign reading: PHOENIX 
CEMETERY.  A large, fancy funeral for Ed Welles is just now coming to an end.
The clergyman closes his book.  Monica, dressed in black, walks off with Mark 
and his governess as the crowd disperses.  From amongst the tombstones 
appears a man in a trenchcoat, under a darkly threatening sky: the sinister 
figure of the implacable Lieutenant Gerard.

				GERARD
		Mrs. Welles?

Monica, Mark, and the governess stop short at the sight of Gerard who 
approaches and nods for Mark to leave.  Monica indicates to the governess 
that she should take Mark away.  They depart at once, leaving Monica alone 
with Gerard.

				GERARD
		I'm sorry.  About the circumstances.

				MONICA
		Who are you?

				GERARD
		Mrs. Welles, where did James Lincoln tell you 
		he was going?

				MONICA
		You're Lieutenant Gerard.  The Tucson police
		must-- 

				GERARD
		They recognized him.  Unfortunately, after the 
		fact.  
			(beat)
		Well.  He told you about me?  Excellent.  He 
		thinks of me as much as I think of him.

				MONICA
		He's innocent.

				GERARD
		The law says guilty.

				MONICA
		The law isn't perfect.  

Gerard merely stares at her.

				MONICA
		Wherever he is now, he knows I believe him.  I 
		always will.

Monica pauses, a faraway look in her eye.

								DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. CITY SIDEWALK - A THOUSAND MILES AWAY - NIGHT

The shadowy figure of a man with a suitcase.  He walks down a deserted, foggy 
street in the middle of the night.  A tiny kitten, lost and MEOWING 
plaintively, crosses his path.  The shadowy figure turns out to be Kimble.  
He stops, crouches, and carefully picks up the kitten, stroking it gently.

				NARRATOR (v.o.)
		Now six months, two weeks, and another thousand
		miles a fugitive, this is Richard Kimble.  And 
		this is how it is with him.

Kimble reluctantly sets the animal back down, picks up his suitcase, and 
leaves the kitten behind.

Near a large RAILROAD CROSSING sign, the silhouette of the suitcase-carrying 
Fugitive walks along some dimly lit railroad tracks and disappears into the 
mist.

								FADE OUT