MICHAEL pivots, and looks: There is McCLUSKEY, frozen, the fork with a piece of veal suspended in air before his gaping mouth.
MICHAEL fires; catching McCLUSKEY in his thick bulging throat. He makes a horrible, gagging, choking sound. Then coolly, and deliberately, MICHAEL fires again, fires right through McCLUSKEY's white-topped skull.
The air is filled with pink mist.
MICHAEL swings toward the MAN standing by the bathroom wall.
He does not make a move, seemingly paralyzed.
Now he carefully shows his hands to be empty.
The WAITER steps backward through the mist of blood, an expression of horror on his face.
MICHAEL looks at his two victims: SOLLOZZO still in his chair, side of his body propped up by the table.
McCLUSKEY finally falls from the chair to the table.
MICHAEL is wildly at a peak. He starts to move out. His
hand:
is frozen by his side, STILL GRIPPING THE GUN.
He moves, not letting the gun go.
MICHAEL's face; frozen in its expression.
His hand:
still holding the gun.
His face:
finally he closes his eyes.
His hand relaxes, the gun falls to the floor with a dull thud.
He walks quickly out of the restaurant, looks back.
He sees a frozen tableau of the murder; as though it had been recreated in wax.
