Saturday, April 4, 2009

Stupid Hillbillies


What a fucking gorgeous day. Just back from a killer bike ride up the coast beach path up to Santa Monica, then back down through Venice and back to my lair here on the canal. The ducks are floating, the birds are chirping ...


And I'm about to write the exciting conclusion to the gang's first bank heist. Blood will be spilled. A pair of high school girls are about to piss their pants.


Tina the Wonder Dog is sleeping at my feet, Miles is cranked way up, I've cracked open a cold one (energy drink, sorry), fired up a smoke, and am ready to rock.


But first, a little 'heist preparation.'


***


EXT. SANTA MONICA PIER - PARKING LOT - DAY

A large, empty lot adjacent to the pier at the beach.

The Olds is parked near the sand. Surf guitar on the stereo.


Hondo sits on the back of the car,

legs dangling onto the rear seats.


Net snuggles next to him.

They drain cans of beer.

SMASH the empties on their foreheads.


HONDO

(sings)

When the sun goes down, and the moon comes up --


NET

I turn into a teenage GOO-GOO MUCK.


Rod and Cam walk up the car.

Pant legs rolled up, barefoot.


CAM

Water’s WARM.


ROD

(grabs her, tickles her)

Gidget goes SURFING.


CAM

(laughing)

Stop calling me GIDGET.


Hondo leans down, GRABS a six-pack.

Tears off a beer.


HONDO

Play-time is over, kiddies. We got work to do.


He TOSSES the can. Rod CATCHES it.


CAM

Me, too -- gimmee, gimmee.


Hondo CRACKS off another one.

Tosses it. HARD.

She GRABS it.


CAM (CONT’D)

OW.


HONDO

Look who’s getting all self-confident and shit.

(beat)

Okay, sports fans, listen up.


He jumps out of the car.

Pulls out a piece of graph paper out of his jacket.

Unfolds it. Lays it down on the hood.

Everyone gathers around it.


HONDO

(CONT'D)

(points)

Okay. Here’s the window where the two tellers are.

(points)

And there in the corner is the vault.

It’s ALWAYS open during business hours.


NET

Stupid hillbillies.


CAM

Santa Monica’s no hillbilly town.

We’re talking rich, Range Rover,

Starbucks-swilling, yoga class assholes.


HONDO

Shut up and listen.

Enough from the peanut gallery.

(points)

Here’s where the security camera is.

Right above the front door.

After we walk in, Cam’s gonna spray-paint it.


CAM

Got it.


HONDO

(to Cam)

Okay, here’s how it’s gonna work.

You go in first and get the guard.


CAM

GET the guard?


HONDO

Don’t worry. He’s an old fart.

Just waive your gun in his face he’ll piss his pants.


CAM

Okay.


HONDO

Then yell out NOBODY MOVE, THIS IS A ROBBERY --

and then Net and I come in with our shotguns.

Then spray-paint the camera

and make the guard lock the door behind us.


CAM

I’m on it.


HONDO

Then Net and I will do our thing

and clean the fucking place out.

(beat)

Now here’s the best part.

The place is always fucking dead.

Cam here will hang around a bit in front

and check real casual-like to see who’s in there.

When it’s empty, we go in.


ROD

That’s fuckin’ brilliant.


HONDO

I know.


NET

That’s my lil’ bank robber.


HONDO

I love you too, honey-bunny.

(to Rod)

Now what I need you to do, Rod,

is drive around to the rear alley,

and wait for us near the back entrance.


ROD

The bank has a BACK ENTRANCE?


HONDO

Yeah. Told you it was podunk shit.

Fucking teller takes her SMOKE BREAK out there.

I seen her.


ROD

You’ve really thought this out.


HONDO

Learned it in the joint.

Gotta plan the shit out of it.

That makes for a successful job.

No one gets hurt, and we get a big pile-a dough.


Everyone nods.


HONDO

(CONT’D)

One last thing. We gotta do it FAST,

cause these local cops GET THERE fast.

Cop shop’s only a mile away.

Minor drawback, but if we’re real quick-like,

we’ll manage it.

(holds up his watch)

Everyone synch up. Its now 10:36.

When we get to the bank, everyone look at the time.

We got two minutes to finish the job --

but if we’re not done in two minutes, we gotta split.

(beat)

Got it?


NET

Whatever.


Hondo pulls out a joint. Fires it up. Takes a big hit.

EXHALES. Passes it to Rod.


HONDO

So who feels like gettin’ some cotton candy?


***

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