Read Online The Grand Budapest Hotel by Wes Anderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Wes Anderson
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chimneys, jumping noiselessly from roof to roof, into the night.
INT. OFFICE BUILDING. NIGHT
A bank of elevators in an art-deco lobby. A bell rings, and a pair of doors slides open. Deputy Kovacs emerges and navigates his way through a maze of suds buckets and women on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor. He does not notice:
Jopling sitting in a chair behind a column reading the evening edition of the
Trans-Alpine Yodel.
EXT. STREET. NIGHT
The evening sky is bright blue. Crowds hurry in and out of shops and restaurants. Deputy Kovacs crosses the street and stands next to an old
lady at a tram stop. He checks his watch. The tram arrives, and the door opens.
Deputy Kovacs assists the old lady, then boards behind her. He takes a seat. He looks out the window. Just as they pull away, he sees Jopling exit the building and climb onto his motorcycle.
Deputy Kovacs frowns.
Jopling kick-starts his engine and follows the tram, close behind, for three blocks. At the next intersection, a policeman blows a whistle, holds up his hand, and makes Jopling wait while a stream of opposing traffic crosses.
The tram rounds a corner and stops. Deputy Kovacs jumps up and ducks out onto the street. He looks left and right. He hurries up a path toward a grand, colossal, domed palace. A sign carved in stone above the door reads: ‘Kunstmuseum Lutz’.
As he goes inside, Deputy Kovacs looks back to see Jopling’s motorcycle pulling slowly to the curb.
INT. MUSEUM. NIGHT
The spacious, soaring entrance hall is dim and deserted. One guard sits alone in a corner writing in a logbook. Deputy Kovacs strides across the room. His clacking feet echo broadly. He detours into an antechamber filled with French still-lives. He pauses.
A second set of footsteps clacks through the lobby behind him.
Deputy Kovacs advances rapidly into the next gallery, past a long mural of an ancient war, and descends a staircase. He pauses again at the bottom.
The second set of footsteps continues through the ante chamber behind him.
Deputy Kovacs turns a corner and rushes between rows of Greek and Roman statues. He cuts through an Egyptian tomb. He skims through an alcove of iron weapons and suits of armor. He pauses once more and listens.
Silence.
Insert:
A pair of high-heeled boots. Two feet quietly slip out of them and tiptoe away.
Cut to:
Deputy Kovacs looking all around, frantic. Across the room, he sees:
A door labeled
VERBOTEN .
Deputy Kovacs runs to the door and opens it. He scans the hall behind him. He sneaks inside.
INT. STORAGE ROOM. NIGHT
Deputy Kovacs flicks on a light. He is in a long hallway lined with racks filled with hundreds of canvases. The room goes dark at either end. He chooses a direction, then sprints straight through into the blackness. Up ahead, he sees lines of faint light around the edges of a door. He skids to a stop and searches for the knob. He turns it and pulls. It is locked. He fumbles at a latch. He snaps it sideways. He swings open the door. His eyes light up:
There is a bicycle leaning against the wall across the alley behind the museum. Deputy Kovacs grabs the door frame and takes one last, quick look back into the darkness behind him.
Insert:
Deputy Kovacs’ hand on the knob. A second hand, wearing brass knuckles, gently enfolds it.
Cut to Deputy Kovacs’ face. He gasps.
EXT. ALLEY. NIGHT
The door hammers shut with a bang. Four of Deputy Kovacs’ fingers, gripping the door frame, pop off at the knuckles all at once and fall down into a shallow puddle.
On the other side of the door, there is a scream of bloodcurdling agony, then a thump, a thwhack, and, finally, a wallop. Pause.
The door opens again. Jopling comes out in his stocking feet. He puts on his boots. He takes out a handkerchief, leans down and collects the four fingers off the ground, wraps them up, slips them into his pocket, and walks away down the alley.
INT. LOBBY. DAY
Eight a.m. Zero, substituting at the concierge desk again, looks
INT. OFFICE BUILDING. NIGHT
A bank of elevators in an art-deco lobby. A bell rings, and a pair of doors slides open. Deputy Kovacs emerges and navigates his way through a maze of suds buckets and women on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor. He does not notice:
Jopling sitting in a chair behind a column reading the evening edition of the
Trans-Alpine Yodel.
EXT. STREET. NIGHT
The evening sky is bright blue. Crowds hurry in and out of shops and restaurants. Deputy Kovacs crosses the street and stands next to an old
lady at a tram stop. He checks his watch. The tram arrives, and the door opens.
Deputy Kovacs assists the old lady, then boards behind her. He takes a seat. He looks out the window. Just as they pull away, he sees Jopling exit the building and climb onto his motorcycle.
Deputy Kovacs frowns.
Jopling kick-starts his engine and follows the tram, close behind, for three blocks. At the next intersection, a policeman blows a whistle, holds up his hand, and makes Jopling wait while a stream of opposing traffic crosses.
The tram rounds a corner and stops. Deputy Kovacs jumps up and ducks out onto the street. He looks left and right. He hurries up a path toward a grand, colossal, domed palace. A sign carved in stone above the door reads: ‘Kunstmuseum Lutz’.
As he goes inside, Deputy Kovacs looks back to see Jopling’s motorcycle pulling slowly to the curb.
INT. MUSEUM. NIGHT
The spacious, soaring entrance hall is dim and deserted. One guard sits alone in a corner writing in a logbook. Deputy Kovacs strides across the room. His clacking feet echo broadly. He detours into an antechamber filled with French still-lives. He pauses.
A second set of footsteps clacks through the lobby behind him.
Deputy Kovacs advances rapidly into the next gallery, past a long mural of an ancient war, and descends a staircase. He pauses again at the bottom.
The second set of footsteps continues through the ante chamber behind him.
Deputy Kovacs turns a corner and rushes between rows of Greek and Roman statues. He cuts through an Egyptian tomb. He skims through an alcove of iron weapons and suits of armor. He pauses once more and listens.
Silence.
Insert:
A pair of high-heeled boots. Two feet quietly slip out of them and tiptoe away.
Cut to:
Deputy Kovacs looking all around, frantic. Across the room, he sees:
A door labeled
VERBOTEN .
Deputy Kovacs runs to the door and opens it. He scans the hall behind him. He sneaks inside.
INT. STORAGE ROOM. NIGHT
Deputy Kovacs flicks on a light. He is in a long hallway lined with racks filled with hundreds of canvases. The room goes dark at either end. He chooses a direction, then sprints straight through into the blackness. Up ahead, he sees lines of faint light around the edges of a door. He skids to a stop and searches for the knob. He turns it and pulls. It is locked. He fumbles at a latch. He snaps it sideways. He swings open the door. His eyes light up:
There is a bicycle leaning against the wall across the alley behind the museum. Deputy Kovacs grabs the door frame and takes one last, quick look back into the darkness behind him.
Insert:
Deputy Kovacs’ hand on the knob. A second hand, wearing brass knuckles, gently enfolds it.
Cut to Deputy Kovacs’ face. He gasps.
EXT. ALLEY. NIGHT
The door hammers shut with a bang. Four of Deputy Kovacs’ fingers, gripping the door frame, pop off at the knuckles all at once and fall down into a shallow puddle.
On the other side of the door, there is a scream of bloodcurdling agony, then a thump, a thwhack, and, finally, a wallop. Pause.
The door opens again. Jopling comes out in his stocking feet. He puts on his boots. He takes out a handkerchief, leans down and collects the four fingers off the ground, wraps them up, slips them into his pocket, and walks away down the alley.
INT. LOBBY. DAY
Eight a.m. Zero, substituting at the concierge desk again, looks
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