Title: NFC CHAMPIONSHIP GAME, JANUARY 29, 2023

EXT. PARKING LOT, LINCOLN FIELD, PHILADELPHIA — EVENING

Braving the cold, six bundled up Eagles fans watch the game on a 13-inch TV, swigging Yeunglings, munching Wawa hoagies. The lone woman- KATE THOMPSON (30s), face painted green, wearing a bloodstained Eagles jacket- raises her beer can.

KATE: Let’s do our toast. To pop.

They all hoist their cans. Belt out their dad’s creed.

THE TAILGATE CREW: Fuck the Cowboys!

Swig their beers. Kate snags another brew from the ratty cooler as she spies a Brinks truck park in front of the Live! Casino across the street. Two men in Covid masks- one tall & white (NICK, 50s), one short & Black (EDDIE, 30s)- climb out.

A kick ass detective for a decade, her instincts tell her something’s off. But the f’ng NFC title game’s going on.

Raucous BOOS pour out of the stadium. The tailgate crew CURSES up a storm, CHUCKING empty cans at the TV. She sighs. Marches toward the casino, no one even noticing…

INT. CASINO

… Nick and Eddie are escorted to a cashier cage by a plump, baby-faced guard (30s). His nametag says Jerry.

Most patrons watch the game on the dozen TVs… at the no-limit poker table, an owlish man with glasses argues with the pit boss… a drunk, pimp-like guy causes a scene at the roulette table… these distractions are not accidents.

SHEILA RIDDICK (30s, Black, slender) mans the cashier cage. Streetwise and surly, she’s a hopeless romantic at heart.

Dread covers her face seeing the Brinks guys… spies all the security cameras around her… Nick punches in a passcode… Eddie eyes her as if to say ‘trust me.’ They know each other.
She relents. Shuffles toward the back room, keycard in hand. The two men follow, holding canvas ATM bags…

EXT. PARKING LOT, LINCOLN FIELD

… Kate sprints across the street, dodging traffic. Honk! A Cybertruck nearly hits her- Kate spills beer on her beloved Eagles jacket. Yells at the driver, flipping him off…

EXT. LIVE! CASINO & HOTEL

… Nick and Eddie fling the ATM bags- now filled with cash-in the back of the truck and scramble inside.

KATE O.S.: PPD! DON’T YOU FUCKING MOVE!

Flashes her badge as she dashes toward the truck- it BARRELS out of the lot- SIDESWIPES a beefy man in a 49ers jacket- she reaches for her gun, but doesn’t have one, not today. Fuck.

49ERS FAN (gasping): … Someone call 9-1-1…

Truck BOLTS out of the lot, tires SQUEALING. We notice the Brinks logo is a decal, not paint- yep, it’s fake, awright. She calls it in, ignoring the guy splayed out on the ground.

49ERS FAN: … Thank you…
DISPATCHER V.O.: Hey, Thompson! You at the game?
KATE (into phone, all business): Oh-300 in progress. Fake Brinks truck, heading south on Pattison.

From across the street, the crowd ROARS.

DISPATCHER V.O.: Woo-hoo!!! Touchdown!!!

Kate gazes at the fleeing truck, pained. Crushes the beer can. Plods back across the street as the fan tries to get up.

49ERS FAN: … Ya know, I-I think I’m okay…

Lying in her path, Kate steps on his groin, not breaking stride. The fan YELPS, crashing back to the pavement.

KATE: Niners suck.

And to rub salt in her wounds, the real Brinks truck cruises past, parking in front of the casino.

Philadelphia Inquirer headline: ‘WE WIN!!!’ On the bottom of the front page, in small print: ‘Live! Casino Robbed’