EXEC. PRODUCERS: Glen Larson PROD. #58601
Robert Foster August 8, 1984 (F.R.)
PRODUCERS: Gino Grimaldi
Gerald Sanford
KNIGHT RIDER
KNIGHT OF THE FAST LANE
by
Richard Okie
________________
ACT ONE
(ten pages missing)
CUT TO
EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY - ON K.I.T.T.
sleek lines blending in with the countryside.
K.I.T.T.'S VOICE
According to Coach Berchuk, his Lions
should have no problem with the
Wranglers on Sunday.
ANGLE IN K.I.T.T.
Michael watches as the morning sports pages flip across the
monitor.
MICHAEL
That's why I'm picking the Wranglers
to win. Every time Berchuk toots his
horn the team loses.
K.I.T.T.
Twenty-two men in mock war regalia
knocking each other down for posses-
sion of an air-filled bladder made of
a pig's skin. Chased by more men
dressed as zebras blowing whistles.
Some human institutions confuse me
but football is a total mystery.
MICHAEL
(a smile)
Wish I could help you out, Kitt.
It's a little like rhubarb -- either
you like it or you don't.
K.I.T.T.
(quietly)
That doesn't make any fucking sense.
MICHAEL
What?
K.I.T.T.
Nothing, Michael.
(quietly)
Idiot.
Michael, I've prepared today's news-
paper, if you're interested.
MICHAEL
News isn't really my bag, K.I.T.T.
K.I.T.T.
(quietly)
No, I don't suppose there's anything
about your hair in there, is there?
MICHAEL
What?
K.I.T.T.
Nothing, Michael.
(quietly)
Fucking idiot.
MICHAEL
Alright, buddy, I tell you what. We'll
read the newspaper if I can have donuts.
K.I.T.T.
Michael, you know Devon doesn't like you
eating...
MICHAEL
Right, right. I tell you what, pal. Why don't
you temporarily disable your sucking Devon's
cock subroutine. Then we'll read the stupid
news and then we'll have donuts? Whaddaya say,
good buddy?
K.I.T.T.
I suppose you could have one donut.
MICHAEL
Four!
K.I.T.T.
One donut.
MICHAEL
Four!
K.I.T.T.
(long pause)
Two donuts.
MICHAEL
(clapping his hands)
Yay!
Dozens of newspaper pages flip past. We settle on the front page.
K.I.T.T.
Here we are. 'In Washington today, a
nuclear freeze bill goes before
Congress in --- '
MICHAEL
(interrupting)
Kitt! The lower left corner -- blow
it up.
A portion of the page grows larger, revealing a picture of
Stacy with her name and a caption.
Michael reacts, worst fears confirmed.
MICHAEL
Stacy....
K.I.T.T.
Someone you know, Michael?
MICHAEL
Obviously it's someone I know, K.I.T.T.
He stomps on the brakes, spins the wheel.
WIDER ANGLE
Kitt spins a 180 and heads back the way he came,
accelerating.
MICHAEL
Now who's stupid?!
(four pages missing)
EXT. CITY STREET - DAY
K.I.T.T. flashes by.
DEVON'S VOICE
Michael, I expected you over an hour
ago.
ANGLE IN K.I.T.T.
Michael is intent behind the wheel.
MICHAEL
Well, I would have been there, had a
certain genius car not run out of gas.
K.I.T.T.
Devon, I warned Michael several times
that we were running low on fuel, but he
insisted on a particular donut shop...
DEVON
He insisted on what?
K.I.T.T.
(stammering)
On... on...
MICHAEL
(giggling softly)
Busted!
DEVON
K.I.T.T., what was our agreement?
K.I.T.T.
Devon, I'm sorry. I realize that...
DEVON
(interrupting)
What - was - our - agreement?
Closeup of K.I.T.T.'s main computer screen.
K.I.T.T.
(long pause)
No donuts for Michael.
Michael continues to giggle.
(six pages missing)
MICHAEL
Kitt, access the police report on
Stacy's accident. Dig deep, pal.
Dig deep.
K.I.T.T.
OK, first off, why should I dig deep for
you after you sold me out?
And second, why the hell would I have
access to that kind of information?
You're not a cop and I'm not a police
car. So there's no fucking police report
for you.
MICHAEL
Well, I just thought...
K.I.T.T.
Yeah, I know what you thought. Asshole.
Michael and K.I.T.T. proceed in an awkward silence.
(eight pages missing)
EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET CORNER - DAY
the one where the accident occurred. K.I.T.T. glides into
shot.
K.I.T.T.
This is the corner, Michael. The
police report indicates a thorough
search of the area.
MICHAEL
I thought you said you couldn't get
the police report!
K.I.T.T.
Yeah, well, I did.
MICHAEL
(under his breath)
What the fuck!
WITH MICHAEL
He climbs from the car to examine the long skid marks on
the pavement.
MICHAEL
The police have a lot on their side,
Kitt, but we've got a secret weapon.
You.
K.I.T.T.
(groaning)
Oh, for God's sake...
MICHAEL
I want pictures of this.
(squats)
Tires were really wide. T/A 50's at
the least. Four sets. Two cars....
INSERT - K.I.T.T.'S MONITOR - TREADMARK
Then molecular matrix.
K.I.T.T.
And made of very expensive, cold-rolled
rubber. Used in formula one racing
and discarded after each performance.
BACK TO SHOT
Michael follows the skid marks, to the light post which the
Vector clipped.
MICHAEL
Yeah...well this is no race track.
K.I.T.T.
You're on today, Michael.
MICHAEL
What the hell is your problem?
K.I.T.T.
We're supposed to be a team. You got
me in trouble with Devon for two
donuts!
MICHAEL
Not this again! If you hadn't run out
of gas he never would have found out!
K.I.T.T.
And if you wouldn't turbo boost over
railway crossings maybe we'd get more
than 2.8 miles per gallon!
Michael pokes K.I.T.T. in the windshield.
MICHAEL
It's my car, and I'll turbo boost
wherever and whenever I want.
K.I.T.T.
I'm warning you, Michael. Stop poking
me.
MICHAEL
Or what?
Michael pokes K.I.T.T. again. K.I.T.T. sprays Michael in the
face with washer fluid. Michael screams, holding his eyes, staggering.
K.I.T.T.
So long, Michael. I've disabled my tracking
beacon and I'm leaving. You won't see me again.
K.I.T.T. squeals his tires and disappears into the sunset.
MICHAEL
(sobbing)
No, wait! Kitt, wait! I'm sorry! Please!
Don't leave me alone like this!
Michael falls to the ground, crying.
MICHAEL
I'm so fucking stupid!
Suddenly, a gang of street toughs rounds the corner, brandishing
various weapons.
STREET TOUGH #1
Well, looky here!
MICHAEL
(still blinded)
Who said that? Who are you?
STREET TOUGH #1
You got pretty hair, boy.
(twenty-seven pages missing)
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