What's that? You thought I forgot about you? Heaven forbid. It might be Sunday, but that doesn't mean I'm asleep at the wheel. And I've got just the thing for a lazy weekend afternoon ... a fresh, steamin' hot chapter from Wilshire Boulevard.
Didn't screen a movie last night. Was reading a book. How many people can say THAT about their Saturday Night? I'm re-reading some of Dashiell Hammet's short stories, looking for one to adapt for the screen. Haven't found the right one yet, but I'm having a great time. If you haven't read his stories, you should. I'm now into a great collection called 'The Continental Op.' Check it out sometime. You won't be disappointed.
Onto today's joint from Wilshire Boulevard, and this one's DARK. Beware, my sweet ... because Carrie Love is about to get revenge from Paul Martune, the jerk that burned down her house ...
INT. SANTA MONICA HOSPITAL - CORRIDOR - DAY
A bustling hallway right out of ER. DOCTORS, NURSES, TECHS
weave in and out like ants marching up the hill.
A DOOR opens to a room marked NURSE’S LOUNGE.
A tall, thin NURSE strides briskly into the throng.
Starched white hat atop chunky blonde locks.
She stops. Turns. Looks.
Looks at the door numbers. Searching. Aha.
A DOORreads ‘134.’
A female hand pushes it open, and we go into --
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Dark with the lights out. Drapes pulled.
Quiet, except for the machines chirping.
Lights blinking.A hulking FIGURE lies on the bed.
Tubes and wires inserted.
Large wooden FRAME is affixed to its head
with a series of bolts, like scaffolding.
Like it’s under construction.
Being rebuilt. Like beachfront property.
Carrie tip-toes up to the bed.
Turns on the light.
Martune doesn’t react.
Sleeping the dreams of morphine bliss.
Wakey, wakey, RISE AND SHINE.
It’s time for your SPONGE BATH.
Martune’s eyelids flicker.
And then maybe take a little BLOOD.
His eyes slowly open. Try to focus.
Take your RECTAL TEMPERATURE.
With a FUCKING KNIFE.
Martune tries to speak, but he’s drugged to the gills.
His voice comes out sideways, like a ventriloquist.
Cahrrie -- Lohv --
That’s right, buster -- it’s me.
Here to wake you from the dead.
Cause we’re gonna have a little party.
Play ourselves a little game --
She pulls a small dictating recorder from her pocket.
Testing, testing -- one, two, three.
Is this thing on?
Golly gee, officer, I was only going ninety.
Carrie pulls out her GLOCK.
Aims it Martune’s head.
Don’t worry. This is just for insurance.
I’d rather just turn off your life support.
More dramatic. And less messy.
Yoo -- funkin’ -- bih.
She places the dictaphone on the pillow beside his head.
All I want is your confession,
and then I’ll leave you alone.
With great effort, gaining strength,
You stole -- ma girfren.’
Well, that’s the problem with a menage et trois, big guy.
It’s rarely an even three-way.
Two of them really get into each other,
and leave out the third.
Nine out of ten times,
it’s the two women,
leaving Mr. ‘I Just Wanna Watch’ out in the cold.
And in your case,
poor little baby was sick of your smug shit
and jumped on the first life preserver she could find.
Carrie pulls out his IV tube.
Martune winces in pain.
Reaches for the call box on the bedside table.
I’m gonna -- call -- security.
Carrie GRABS the box.
Places it out of his reach.
Enough. Pipe down. Sit still.
She raises the gun.
Places it against Martune’s temple.
You’re gonna spill it. NOW.
(CLICKS on the recorder)
Talk to me, Jesus. Tell me about the fire.
Shit, no -- don’t shoot, don’t shoot.
All of a sudden you can talk?
(looks at the missing IV tube)
Morphine -- I need -- morphine.
Give me your statement. NOW.
Then you can take a trip to paradise city.
Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty.
Carrie CLICKS the hammer.
Okay, okay. DON’T SHOOT.
I started it, okay?
I burned down your house because you stole my girlfriend.
I LOVED that girl, and you -- took her AWAY from me.
Aw, isn’t that touching.
She PISTOL-WHIPS him, CRACK.
So you torch my DREAM HOME.
Last question, asshole.
You killed Slobotnik, didn’t you?
Martune blink-blinks. Frightened.
(raises the gun)
You want more of this?
Okay, alright. I shot -- Kip.
He -- made a pass at me.
Said he was -- in love with me.
I -- snapped.
Carrie smiles. SNAPS off the recorder. Stands.
Well, I guess that wraps it up.
Please, morphine -- I’m in pain.
Carrie looks around.
Sees a small washcloth on the bed post.
She balls it up. SHOVES it in his mouth.
Leans over. Re-inserts the IV tube into Martune’s arm.
His eyes cry out with immediate relief.
See? I’m not a totally bad person.
I may not be a health care professional,
but I play one on TV.
One of the monitors starts BEEP-BEEP-BEEPING.
Oscilloscope patterns dance madly on the screen.
She presses the call button.
Then hurries out of the room.
IN THE CORRIDOR
Carrie looks at her clipboard. Starts moving.
Blends into the crowd.
A MALE VOICE
rises above the din on the PA.
URGENT MALE VOICE (O.C.)
CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE,
room 134, cardiac arrest!
Move it, move it, STAT.
PUSH IN ON
a VIDEO CAMERA on the wall.
Red light on.