Hold onto your hat, kids ... cause it's time once again for your favorite crime joint, That Killing Feeling. Today we're gonna be wrapping up things up on the latest story, so you don't wanna miss one ... so get yer tight asses in here ...
The time has come to pull the plug on WILSHIRE BOULEVARD on this blog. Not that I don't want to post the whole thing, but my manager advised me against it, as someone might steal it. Now, I know there's a snowball's chance in hell of this happening, but I gotta do what he says. But I won't leave you in the lurch. If any of you (and that means both of you) out there would like to read the ending, send me an email at email@example.com, and I'll shoot you a copy.
Tomorrow I'm gonna start serializing my big-budget spy thriller NOWHERE GIRL. Methinks you're gonna love it, because it's balls-out, hardboiled action from start to finish. And did I mention its REALLY violent? Oh, yeah -- and there's tons of hot chicks. Good times.
So, without any further, adieu, let's catch up with Carrie Love, who, along with Jenny Lane, are about to confront the ones who framed her for murder ...
EXT. JENNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING - CANAL - NIGHT
The moon glimmers on the inky black waterway like thick brush strokes.
Five of WHITE GEESE float by, single file.
Jenny and Carrie sit on an old sofa under a tree. Watching.
The guy in that five-million dollar home
on the other side bought them for his wife.
Only the kids pay any attention to them.
Did you feel his pulse?
No, I freaked out. I just split.
Then I called you.
He’s probably okay.
We could go to my place,
check the police scanner --
Carrie closes her eyes.
(takes Carrie’s hand)
Stay here tonight.
I can’t drag you into this.
I’m ALREADY into this.
(opens her eyes)
I guess you are.
Come on, let’s go in.
I’m getting cold.
(pulls her back down)
Can you just -- hold me a sec?
Three soft GUNSHOTS RIP through the sofa
just above Jenny’s head --
THWIP. THWIP. THWIP.
What was THAT?
(pulls her down)
Someone’s shooting a B-B gun at us.
Stay down. Don’t move --
Carrie GRABS the top of the couch.
Then Jenny. Does a roll.
Pulls the sofa down over them.
They crouch low. Listen.
More shots THWIP, THWIP, THWIP
into the cushions.
How very Columbine.
Who are they shooting at?
You or me?
I don’t know.
But we have to get the fuck out of here.
My car is across the street.
Which car is yours?
The gold BMW, two spaces down.
You have a beemer --
Don’t get excited. It’s a ‘72.
That bucket of bolts cost me more in repairs
than what I paid for it.
But it’s -- working, right?
EXT. CANAL - AT THAT MOMENT
Across the canal, a FIGURE IN BLACK crouches down.
Rifle poking through the wooden fence along the footpath.
is lifted, tilted, tipped up on end.
squeezes off a series of SHOTS --
THWIP. THWIP. THWIP. THWIP.
EXT. JENNY’S APARTMENT BUILDING - GARAGE - CONTINUOUS
Jenny’s vintage gold BMW PEELS RUBBER, and flies away.
INT. JENNY’S BEEMER - MOVING - NIGHT
Carrie drives like a demon.
Enough crying in my cocktail.
Fucking around playing footsie.
I still had my work. Still had this case.
And it was time to get my shit together and do what I do best --
crack this sucker wide open.
She FIRES UP a smoke, and --
Careful, there’s a --
PUNCHES the gas.
(grips the door)
Where are we going?
To Gay Flender’s joint.
But didn’t you say you suspect her of --
I did. I do.
And that she set you up?
Won’t she be --
Not if she’s distracted.
The girls exchange looks.
Carrie, excited. Jenny, scared.
Oh, no you’re not. I’m not gonna --
Yes, you are.
All you have to do is talk to her
about how Modi hit you,
and that you’re thinking of suing,
but if you could get your job back --
PUSH IN ON Jenny.
Eyes darting. Pensive.
I could -- do that.