Dirty Harriet

Monday, Monday. So bad to me. You lookin' for unspeakably depraved acts of violence? Hard-hitting, hardboiled action? Murder and mayhem? Then slip into your shoulder holster, pack your favorite piece, and get your ass over to ... That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's rip-roarin' espisode of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY ... where shit is really starting to hit the fan. So to speak.

First up, wanted fugitive/screenwriter Friday Foster is taken into police custody in the middle of media firestorm ... as it turns out she's become a superstar, overnight ...

Meanwhile, sleazy network executives try and decide how best to capitalize on her fame ...

As Friday sits in a jail cell ... and has a most horrific encouter ...

With an agent.

EXT. BEVERLY HILLS POLICE HEADQUARTERS - DAY

A MADHOUSE. A throng of MEDIA. PAPARAZZI.

SPECTATORS behind police barricades clamor for a view.

COPS in riot gear PUSH them back. A CHOPPER WHIRS overhead.

CROWD

Free Friday! Free Friday! Free Friday!

MAUI SUMMER (24) stands in front of her CREW with a mike.

Breathtaking in a too-tight, too-short shiny suit.

MAUI

This is Maui Summer, on the scene, here at Beverly Hills police HQ --

A LARGE, BLACK SUV comes into view behind her.

Slowly pushes through the crowd. Pandemonium.

SCREAMING. SHOUTING. PUSHING.

MAUI (CONT’D)

Where Friday Foster is just now arriving by motorcade, in custody --

(sees something)

OMG! Here she is, now!

The rear door of the SUV FLIES OPEN. Out steps --

FRIDAY FOSTER. Bruised and bloodied. Smeared makeup.

Still quite cute. Despite the manacles and restraints.

Tired eyes blink in the sunlight.

GREASY PONYTAILED PAPARAZZI

Friday, over HERE. Smile for ze CAMERA!

RUSSIAN PAPARAZZI

Friday, give smile!

EURO PAPARAZZI

Hey, Friday, bonus points if I pee my pants?

GAWKER

Friday is the new Britney!

MAUI

(SHOVES microphone in her face)

Maui Summer, Friday, Up Close 2Night.

Would you like to make a statement?

Another ANCHORETTE pushes her way in.

CHERRY

(SHOVES microphone in her face)

Cherry Blazer, Action Network News!

Friday, how do you feel? Are you okay?

Have the police been mistreating you?

Friday whips her head around. Stares. Wheels turning.

Raises her handcuffed wrists, a’la Rocky.

FRIDAY

Viva la REVOLUTION, media WHORES!

The crowd ERUPTS in CHEERS.

ON A LAPTOP

we see the media circus. CAMERA pulls back to reveal --

INT. NETWORK CONFERENCE ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT

A dozen glossy NETWORK EXECUTIVES sit around

a large, marble and glass conference table.

Each with a pitcher of water. A blackberry. A laptop.

Glazed, self-satisfied smirks.

ASSISTANTS scurry about, passing out five-dollar coffees.

Four-dollar muffins. Vitamin water. Perks of the elite.

HAUGHTY BABE EXECUTIVE

(to an assistant, tossing a muffin)

I said carob, Maya -- NOT soy!

ARROGANT STUD EXECUTIVE

Jesus, Maya -- who do you think we’re pitching, Donald Trump?

An OILY NETWORK EXECUTIVE sits at the head of the table.

Gordon Gecko and Faye Dunaway’s NETWORK bastard offspring.

Spray-tan smug, like some Glengarry Glenn Ross nightmare.

OILY NETWORK EXECUTIVE

Friday Foster, people. Catch of the day.

Ripe for the picking. Ideas?

Haughty puts down her muffin. Raises her hand.

HAUGHTY BABE EXECUTIVE

We get the rights to her story, do an MOW.

OILY NETWORK EXECUTIVE

WRONG. The TV movie is DEAD.

Get that tight little ass over to Lifetime, NOW. Next?

FAT, EFFEMINATE TOKEN BLACK EXECUTIVE

We put her on Extreme Cooking With the Stars Kitchen Makeover.

(SNAPS his fingers)

Eat my asparagus tip, Rachel Ray.

OILY NETWORK EXECUTIVE

WRONG. Her story’s too juicy for that crap.

We’ll leave that for some washed-out former sitcom star.

(to assistant)

Aura. Call Kirstie Alley’s manager.

Find out if she can make a bundt cake --

(to the room)

C’mon people. The sharks are circling the WATER.

Where’s the BLOOD?

Arrogant Stud raises his hand.

ARROGANT STUD EXECUTIVE

We do a reality show.

Follow her through the legal process, her trial,

and if all goes well, to jail. Up close and humiliating.

(chortles)

And we call it -- American Outlaw.

Oily stands. Starts CLAPPING.

OILY NETWORK EXECUTIVE

YES. That’s IT. Everyone give it up for BRANDT.

Future programming guru.

Like a buzzard circling a wounded beast,

ready for THE KILL.

Everyone CLAPS.

OILY NETWORK EXECUTIVE (CONT’D)

So this means we have to get moving. NOW.

The little lady is being booked and body cavity searched --

(beat)

Shit. That would have been GREAT footage.

(rubs his hands)

So let’s MOVE IT, people. Any questions?

A SWEET-FACED JUNIOR EXECUTIVE raises a manicured hand.

SWEET-FACED JUNIOR EXECUTIVE

But isn’t that -- ethically wrong?

To do a show about somebody being humiliated?

OILY NETWORK EXECUTIVE

Humiliated? Humiliated? HUMILIATED?

(dramatic pause)

Young lady, humiliation pays our bills.

Humiliation puts food on our tables.

We live in a media-saturated age

where the slack-jawed, fresh-scrubbed masses

in the hinterlands are ENTERTAINED

by watching people get humiliated.

The reason?

Because your average Joe and Joette

likes to feel SUPERIOR to the poor,

fat boob clawing for attention, money --

and for what passes as a reasonable facsimile of fame today.

(beat)

Because THEN our advertisers can sell them

GIGANTIC, GAS-GUZZLING TRUCKS they don’t NEED.

BEER that tastes like PISS.

PILLS for imaginary symptoms.

New and improved TOILET PAPER.

(beat)

This is what makes our great nation the most powerful on EARTH.

Our ability to shovel shit down the gullets of our citizens --

and make them ENJOY IT.

(beat)

From the minute they wake up

to the moment they lay their empty little heads on their pillows,

we send them a message.

Don’t THINK, talk on your CELL PHONE.

Go see this movie, YOU’LL GET LAID.

Buy this magazine, find out about that SLUTTY STARLET,

who’s she fucking NOW? Is she in REHAB yet?

(beat)

And its all a smokescreen deregulated

and blessed by our government to cover up what’s REALLY going on.

A genocidal WAR. A plummeting ECONOMY.

The loss of hard-won CIVIL RIGHTS.

The global climate MELTDOWN --

because we just have to have our OIL

and our STEAKS and our VIDEO GAMES and our PORN --

(dramatic)

And our REALITY TV.

He takes a moment. Sips his vitamin water. Leans on the desk.

OILY NETWORK EXECUTIVE (CONT’D)

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the new world order.

A place where ratings are more important than our children’s education.

Where market share means more than a national political discourse.

A place where advertising revenue is the god we pray to.

(beat)

So, I say to you, the cultural elite --

Mr. and Mrs. America DESERVES American Outlaw.

INT. HOLDING CELL - AT THAT MOMENT

Friday paces back and forth. Stops. GRABS the bars.

A GUARD approaches, with an ARMANI SUIT (27).

Armani goes up to the bars. Offers his hand.

ARMANI SUIT

Friday Foster, Lenny Rosen. CMA.

FRIDAY

What do you want?

LENNY

What do I want? What do YOU want?

A book deal? A TV show? How about a biopic?

You’ve got one hell of a story, hot stuff, and baby,

I’m the one who can bring it to the world.

I’ll have you rolling in dough so quick

your head’ll spin faster than Amy Winehouse in a pharmacy.

FRIDAY

Are you for real? I’ve seen ENTOURAGE, okay?

LENNY

I’m as real as it gets, Dirty Harriet.

ENTOURAGE is child’s play.

THIS is the deal, baby -- WOMAN ON TOP.

(quiet, urgent)

You sign with me, and you get the monolith that is CMA,

with its fat, greedy tentacles in every pie, cake

and low-fat non-dairy by-product in the media universe.

(beat)

Want a date with John Meyer? Done.

Jodie Foster? We’ll make an offer.

FRIDAY

I’m more the -- Scarlet Johanssen type.

LENNY

Done deal. SWISH. Three points.

PUSH IN ON Friday. Excited.

FRIDAY

Rockin.’ Show me the dotted line.

No Shit, Shaquile

Ah, Sunday. A day of rest. But not for this hardboiled chick. No, siree. Got a pistol in my pocket, and a rocket in my shoulder holster. Just another pulp-noir deviant chick with one thing on her mind ... That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's joint from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, where the shit has really hit the fan. In the aftermath of wanted fugitive/screenwriter Friday Foster's aborted hostage situation, and in the middle of a riot, our herione suddenly has to deal with ... the rioters.

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

Three more LARGE BLACK GUYS walk in. Carrying pipes. Knives.

BIG, UGLY GANGSTA

(sees Friday)

That’s the bitch’s been on da news.

I’m gonna hit dat. Have my first celeb-ritee.

LEERING GANGSTA

Back off. I’m doin’ her first.

KNIFE-WEILDING GANGSTA

Homes, they three inputs --

we kin have a gangsta gang-bang.

Friday VIBRATES. JUMPS UP. Raises the Uzi --

FRIDAY

Baby was a black sheep, baby was a whore,

baby, baby, baby, baby’s got her finger on the trigger!

And starts SHOOTING at THE CEILING --

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Large chunks of ceiling tile SPRAY through the air.

The GANGSTAS duck.

Friday’s guns SWEEP across the WINDOWS --

IMPLODING them in a SHOWER OF GLASS --

CRASH, SMASH, TINKLE, SPRINKLE, BASH, BANG, CRASH, SMASH.

She sneers. Lowers her weapons.

FRIDAY (CONT'D)

Baby-baby-baby was a rock-n-roll nigga.

From the floor, BIG, UGLY whimpers.

BIG, UGLY GANGSTA

Shit. Pissed my pants.

KNIFE-WEILDING GANGSTA

Bitch is fuckin’ crazy.

LESTER

pokes his head in.

LESTER

What the bloody fuck was that?

FRIDAY

Lester. What are you doing here?

LESTER

What do you think?

The American Dream --

Looting and pillaging.

And it’s ‘Menthol.’ Nice, huh?

You gave me the idea --

(points at the assembled gang)

This here is my posse. Da Nica-tine.

FRIDAY

Well, your fucking posse almost RAPED me.

MENTHOL

Gentlemen, meet Friday Foster, as seen on TV.

One bad motherfucker. You don’t wanna mess with her.

FRIDAY

Word to my peeps.

MENTHOL

(sees the blood on Carrie)

We have to get her IN HOSPITAL.

FRIDAY

No shit, Shaquile. But there’s no ambulances.

They’re all busy, thanks to YOUR FUCKING RIOT.

MENTHOL

My riot? I didn’t shoot bloody RIDIKULUSS.

White men did.

JIMMY JOE

He’s gotta point.

FRIDAY

Okay, okay. Years of oppression, I get it.

Menthol goes to the door.

MENTHOL

Come. We’ll escort you.

(to Big, Ugly)

Jamal, you carry the bleeding girl.

And apologize to Ms. Foster for threatening to defile her loins.

Jamal goes to Carrie. Picks her up. Looks at Friday, baleful.

JAMAL

I’m sorry -- Friday.

FRIDAY

You should be. You’ll never know my splendor.

(to Menthol)

‘Defile my loins?’

MENTHOL

So I was an English major --

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - ROOF - MOMENTS LATER

Friday and Jimmy Joe stand on the roof.

Look down at the carnage in disbelief.

JIMMY JOE

The meek shall inherit the Earth.

FRIDAY

More like steal and destroy shit.

Check out the brothers with the big-screen TV --

JIMMY JOE

So why did you do it? Movie deals fall apart every day.

FRIDAY

Weren’t you listening?

They fucking outed me.

Now everybody knows --

JIMMY JOE

Well, la-di-da. So fuckin’ what.

In case ya didn’t know it,

that makes you fuckin’ special.

Ya gotta gift, and yer gonna

keep it hidden away?

FRIDAY

In the subculture we call it deep stealth.

There are thousands and thousands of us.

In your midst. Waiting --

JIMMY JOE

Yeah, and y’all hide, so that no one knows about you.

Y’all need to come out -- to yourselves.

FRIDAY

Come out -- to myself?

Thunderstruck, her eyes start to well up.

JIMMY JOE

(throaty)

C’mere --

And he kisses her. Hard. Then soft. Pulls her close.

FRIDAY

(pulls back)

HEY. You’ve got WOOD.

A PAPARAZZI

sits on a nearby roof. Shooting video footage of them.

A CHOPPER

circles above. WHIRRING rotors. They look up.

JIMMY JOE

Go, RIDLEY.

CARRIE

It’s about deus ex machina TIME.

Friday and Jimmy Joe race over. DUCK under the rotors --

as a SWARM of SWAT OFFICERS pile out. Two GRAB Friday.

MENACING SWAT OFFICER

Friday Foster, you are UNDER ARREST.

You have the right to remain silent --

JIMMY JOE

Friday!

A BURLY SWAT OFFICER grabs Jimmy Joe by the arm.

BURLY SWAT OFFICER

Stand back. She’s ours.

JIMMY JOE

I’m comin’ with ya --

BURLY SWAT OFFICER

NO. Stay right where you are.

Jimmy Joe REARS back, PUNCHES Burly -- SMACK.

BURLY SWAT OFFICER (CONT’D)

HEY.

(GRABS Jimmy Joe)

Okay, asshole -- you got your wish.

And he DRAGS Jimmy Joe onto the chopper.

Zippy, peppy music over TITLES:

UP CLOSE 2NIGHT!

Edited in a blender, JUMP CUTS:

Palm trees. The Hollywood sign. Grauman’s Chinese Theater.

The Santa Monica Pier. The Cheetah Lounge.

The Beverly Hills Hotel. The Laugh Factory.

Seated behind a massive, shiny desk,

a WILDLY SMILING BUFF ANCHOR

and a PREENING, AIRBRUSHED ANCHORETTE lean toward us.

WILDLY SMILING BUFF ANCHOR

Good evening, this is Harry Hart --

PREENING, AIRBRUSHED ANCHORETTE

And I’m Mary Wally.

Harry takes a sip from his mug. Smiles.

MARY

What’s in the mug, Harry? A little pick-me-up?

HARRY

You little rascal. Why, it’s only water.

Who do you take me for, Pat O’Brien?

They both LAUGH MANIACALLY.

MARY

Today in Beverly Hills, infamous fugitive

Friday Foster was taken into custody --

HARRY

After being apprehended on the roof of White Line Pictures.

MARY

We go now to the story, live as it unfolds --

HARRY

Live, at Beverly Hills Police Headquarters.

MARY

Live, at Beverly Hills Police Headquarters.

(beat)

You stepped on my line, Harry. You sure that’s only water?

Harry takes a sip. Winces like it’s strong.

HARRY

Whoo --

(toasts)

Take it away, Maui --

Gangsta Gang-Bang

Happy Saturdaze, crime slicksters. Feelin' a little bored? Disgruntled? Like you wanna climb up on the roof and start picking off pedestrians with a high-powered rifle? Then congratulations ... you've got That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's crackling hot episode from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY.

First up, we see aftermath of disgraced homicide cop Carrie Love getting shot in the stomach ...

While the executives of White Line Pictures make their 'Escape from LA' ...

Meanwhile, the rioter have 'entered the building' and are on their way upstairs ...

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

A sharp CRACK through the window. A bullet WHIZZES by.

Carrie clutches her stomach. OOF.

CARRIE

Huh?

A red stain appears on her shirt. Starts growing.

FRIDAY

NO.

Friday takes Carrie in her arms.

CARRIE

(tiny voice)

I’ve been -- shot.

FRIDAY

Shhhh. It’s gonna be okay.

(to the group)

Somebody call a fucking ambulance!

Jimmy Joe pulls out his cell. Punches in 911.

CARRIE

Funny -- I don’t feel anything.

FRIDAY

Shhhh, save your strength. You’re in shock.

(to Jimmy Joe)

Well?

JIMMY JOE

It’s jus’ ringin’ and ringin’ --

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE

A large mob of UNRULY RIOTERS POUND on the front door.

Mr. George stands behind the glass. Shakes his fist.

MR. GEORGE

Heathens! Go away!

We haff nothin here for yoo to take!

A HUGE BLACK GUY KICKS the door.

HUGE BLACK GUY

I saw dat ‘Drive-By 3!’

It wazza piece-a SHIT!

I want my money back!

LOUD BLACK GUY

You be dissin’ niggaz wit dat SHIT!

He lifts a FIRE EXTINGUISHER and SMASHES IT through the door.

IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM

Friday looks out the window. Sees the GANG pouring in.

FRIDAY

We gotta get the FUCK outta here,

or else we’re dead white meat.

(to Jimmy Joe)

Where’s that fucking AMBULANCE?

JIMMY JOE

(closes his cell)

Fucking riot, they’re all busy --

said it would be about an hour.

FRIDAY

An hour? We DON’T HAVE AN HOUR!

DON

Like I could give two fucks.

(to Hans)

Hans. You drive your Hummer to work today?

HANS

Yah, of course --

GARY

Great idea. The parking garage is secure.

HANS

And ve make like Escape From LA.

DON

Shut up, Hans. Gimme your fucking keys.

(takes keys, to Friday)

You’re on your own, bitch.

Good luck getting out of here alive.

They race outta there. The assistants follow.

Friday strokes Carrie’s hair. Rocks back and forth.

FRIDAY

Everything in my life turns to shit.

(to Jimmy Joe)

We’ve gotta do something.

(a lightbulb POPS)

Hey. You’ve got rich and famous friends.

Any of ‘em have a chopper?

JIMMY JOE

Fuck, yeah.

(pulls out his cell, dials)

Yo, Ridley? Yeah, it’s me, Jimmy Joe.

(listens)

Oh, nothin’ much,

just about to be stormed by

an angry mob of marauding rioters --

an’ we gotta lady thas’ been shot in the belly.

How you doin?’

(listens)

Beverly Hills. Over at White Line Pictures.

You still have that chopper?

(looks at Friday)

All gassed up an’ ready to go?

And you sure yer not usin’ it?

(listens)

Yer in Morocco with Russell? Nice.

So kin I borrow it? It’s an emergency.

(listens)

Thanks, Ridley-boy. I owe ya one.

(listens)

I gotta think about it. Thanks.

(hangs up, to Friday)

Ridley’s gonna let me borrow his personal chopper.

It’s on its way over.

(beat)

An I got a part in his next picture -- if I want it.

Not sure if I wanna play a Shiite terrorist, though.

FRIDAY

Ridley -- ?

JIMMY JOE

Scott, yeah. We’ve wanted to work together for years.

Just haven’t found the right project.

(beat)

Hey. So listen, while we’re waitin’ --

can I ask you a question. Kinda personal?

FRIDAY

How personal?

JIMMY JOE

Well, see -- I never met a woman like you before,

an’ I always wanted to.

(meaningfully)

The Native Americans say you have special powers.

FRIDAY

That’s a myth. I’ve seen life from both sides,

and they both suck. What’s your question?

JIMMY JOE

So, uh --

(beat)

Which orgasm is better?

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.

A horde of feet STOMP down the hallway outside.

FRIDAY

Shit.

Jimmy Joe puts a finger to his mouth -- shhhhhhhh.

A BIG, UGLY GANGSTA

sticks his head in the room.

BIG, UGLY GANGSTA

(to the rest outside)

Hey. In here. We gotta couple-a live ones.

(sees Bland)

He dead?

FRIDAY

Just resting.

BIG, UGLY GANGSTA

(sees Carrie)

She dead?

FRIDAY

Almost.

Three more LARGE BLACK GUYS walk in.

Carrying pipes. Knives.

BIG, UGLY GANGSTA

(sees Friday)

That’s the bitch’s been on da news.

I’m gonna hit dat. Have my first celeb-ritee.

LEERING GANGSTA

Back off. I’m doin’ her first.

KNIFE-WEILDING GANGSTA

Homes, they three inputs --

we kin have a gangsta gang-bang.

Naughty Schoolgirl

Happy Friday, crime slicksters! Are you ready for the weak-end? The rear end? You ready for some gut-punching, kick-ass, hardboiled-pulp action? Then get your asses over the only depraved joint in town, where the chicks are hot, the guns are hotter ... at That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's blistering, white-hot installment from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY ...

In which wanted fugitive/screenwriter Friday Foster and her ex, disgraced cop Carrie Love subdue white slave trafficker/former Marine Bland Loosener ...

And then share a tender moment ...

Before something HORRIBLE happens.

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

Carrie GRABS Bland. WRENCHES his arms back behind him.

SNAPS on cuffs. Friday PUNCHES him in the face. Lights out.

FRIDAY

Support our troops. Not.

CARRIE

So that’s how you take care of things?

Violence? I had him HANDCUFFED.

JIMMY JOE

Ah, c’mon -- that was self-defense.

Looks like he had it comin.’

CARRIE

Self Defense? Had it coming?

She TERRORIZED a restaurant.

Then a think tank.

Smashed a PULITZER PRIZE.

Hijacked a CAR.

And, is in possession of ILLEGAL WEAPONS.

FRIDAY

Well, if you’re going to nitpick.

(beat)

You walked out on me.

CARRIE

I was -- covered with soap. And you were -

(beat)

I’m sorry I split on you. I, I --

(beat)

Can’t handle the kinky stuff.

FRIDAY

It’s about control.

And letting go of it. Not pain.

I never hurt you.

You’re just afraid of what turns you on.

Naughty schoolgirl, hmmm?

CARRIE

I just want vanilla some of the time, you know?

Hearts and flowers? Candlelit dinners, watching bad rom-coms -

FRIDAY

That can be arranged. I do have an Enya CD, you know --

Carrie stares at Friday. Practically quivering.

CARRIE

I could really use a cigarette.

Friday pulls out her pack. Slides out two.

Fires them up. Inhales. Hands one to Carrie.

CARRIE (CONT'D)

Thanks.

Carrie takes a long drag. They stare at each other.

FRIDAY

We could go for a trial run. No strings.

Come with me. Break the rules.

Pause.

CARRIE

Goddammit.

FRIDAY

You know you want to.

CARRIE

You’re an evil temptress.

(beat)

But you know that.

FRIDAY

Come, little moth -- into the flame.

CARRIE

I’m a cop, Friday.

If I go with you, I can kiss my badge goodbye.

It’s all I have. My dad was a cop.

FRIDAY

So -- what. You’re gonna -- arrest me?

CARRIE

I don’t have to. A swarm of heat will be here any minute.

FRIDAY

(softly)

Yeah.

(to the executives)

Okay. We’re gonna ankle this joint. You’re all free to go.

DON

It’s about fucking time.

A sharp CRACK through the window. A bullet WHIZZES by.

Carrie clutches her stomach. OOF.

CARRIE

Huh?

A red stain appears on her shirt. Starts growing.

FRIDAY

NO.

Friday takes Carrie in her arms.

CARRIE

(tiny voice)

I’ve been -- shot.

There's A Riot Going On

Hold onto your pants, crime slicksters, cause it's time once again for another fresh, hot slice of hardboiled pulp, straight from the source. So put up your wingtips, load your magazine, crack open a cold one, and get ready for ... That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's joint from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY.

When we last left wanted fugitive/screenwriter Friday Foster, she was holding the executives of White Line Pictures hostage at gunpoint in the conference room, where she demanded an apology from them -- which she got, live on TV.

Problem is, the cops just arrived outside.

And they want to talk to her ...

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

A DEEP, MALE VOICE BOOMS over a loudspeaker from outside.

DEEP, MALE VOICE (O.C.)

Friday Foster! This is the police! We have you surrounded!

Come out with your hands up, and you won’t be hurt!

FRIDAY

Damn. They really say that?

DEEP, MALE VOICE (O.C.)

Friday Foster, I REPEAT!

Come out RIGHT NOW,

hands on top of your head --

or we’re COMING IN AFTER YOU!

Silence. Worried looks all around.

FRIDAY

Who’s gotta cell phone I can use?

Everyone pulls theirs out. Offers them.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

My god. Reach out and touch me.

She takes Jimmy Joe’s. Fingers a number --

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

Hello? 911?

(listens)

Yeah, can you put me through to the cop

who’s outside White Line Pictures yelling over a bullhorn?

(listens)

I’m the one in the building with a semi-automatic weapon

and a 357 Magnum that he’s yelling at --

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE - DAY

AN OLD, BLACK POLICE SERGEANT holds a cell phone to his ear.

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT

Hello? Ms. Foster?

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:

Friday pulls open the blinds. Looks out the window.

FRIDAY

Hey, it’s me. Call me Friday.

What’s the 411, homes? Can I get a shout-out?

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT

(to himself)

I’m too old for this shit.

(into the phone)

We’ve got a situation here -- Friday.

FRIDAY

Understatement much?

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT

So what are we going to do about it?

Are you going to come out and surrender like a good citizen?

FRIDAY

I get it -- you’re the Morgan Freeman character,

the voice of affirmative action reason.

Cliched, but it still works. When done well.

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT

Morgan Freeman character?

(hears something)

Wait a minute. I’ve got another call coming in --

(presses call-waiting)

Ridikuluss has been assassinated? By WHITE COPS?

A large BOOM outside. Friday looks, sees --

A MOB of marauding RIOTERS swarm the street.

100% ‘of color,’ they SMASH AND GRAB goods from stores.

SHOOT GUNS in the air. Light FIRES.

WHOOP and HOLLER. It’s scary. Out of a movie.

Oh. Wait a minute.

FRIDAY

It’s Rodney King time all over again.

Everybody crowds around the window. Looks.

CARRIE

The natives are restless.

JIMMY JOE

They’re keepin’ it real, up in the stolen TV.

OLD BLACK POLICE SERGEANT

(on the phone)

But we’ve got a hostage situation here.

I can’t just leave and --

(hears something, looks)

Holy shit. I see ‘em. Alright, goddamit.

(hits call waiting)

This is your lucky day, lady.

Stay in the building where you’re safe.

We’ll come back and get ya later.

(beat)

Hello? Friday? Ms. Foster?

(shuts off phone)

Friday. What hippie-ass shit kinda name is that?

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Everyone watches the big-screen TV. On it --

A RED-FACED ANCHOR glares into the CAMERA.

Twitching with anger. Self-righteousness. Right-wing bravado.

RED-FACED ANCHOR

-- while leaving the downtown courthouse

after appearing for an arraignment on a

weapons product-placement parole violation,

hip-hop artist Ridikuluss was assassinated

in cold blood in broad daylight by rogue police officers.

(beat)

Unfortunately, rival news channel Crime TV was on the scene,

and aired footage of the shooting moments later.

REBECCA

Go, team. GREAT footage.

CARRIE

But they’re not cops.

JIMMY JOE

How kin ya tell?

CARRIE

The swastika tattoo on the neck? Dead giveaway.

RED-FACE

shakes his head.

RED-FACED ANCHOR

Mayor York has declared martial law,

an immediate curfew,

and is suspending all valet parking in the city.

JIMMY JOE

Damn. This is SERIOUS.

Rebecca goes to Carrie. Takes the camera.

REBECCA

Okay, that’s it. Gotta jam. Bigger, better story, folks.

(shouts)

Howard! Scott! Get your lazy asses in here!

FRIDAY

You can’t just -- leave --

REBECCA

Oh, yes I can. You got your apology. Story over.

Nice little piece, but no shoot-out with the cops,

no suicide, no mayhem.

Let’s face it, your ‘siege’ had a lame ending.

Howard and Scott appear in the doorway.

REBECCA (CONT’D)

Come on, fellas. We gotta riot on our hands.

Move it, move it, move it.

They race over, grab their equipment.

FRIDAY

Lame ending? LAME ENDING?

REBECCA

Don’t take it personally, hon.

I mean, think about it, you’re alive.

She goes to the door. The crew follows. Then Kelly.

CARRIE

Where are you going?

KELLY

Life-changing epiphany.

(to Howard)

Coffee, later?

HOWARD

How do you take it?

KELLY

Uh -- black?

They leave. Friday goes to the window. Looks at the carnage.

FRIDAY

Jesus fucking Christ. How am I gonna get outta here?

BLAND

runs into the room. Waving a gun.

BLAND

There you are! Where is my money? I want MY MONEY!

FRIDAY

(points her guns at him)

I don’t HAVE it. I SPENT it.

Carrie slides along the wall, gets behind him.

BLAND

You’re a LIAR. I don’t BELIEVE you.

FRIDAY

Then we have a problem, don’t we?

So shut THE FUCK UP before I BLAST YOU

with UN-FRIENDLY FIRE.

BLAND

Oh, yeah? You and what ARMY?

Carrie GRABS him. WRENCHES his arms back behind him.

SNAPS on cuffs. Friday PUNCHES him in the face. Lights out.

FRIDAY

Support our troops. Not.

Lights, Camera, Anger

Happy Hump Day, crime fiends. Are you ready to get your hardboiled-pulp-action groove on? Then slip into your favorite shoulder holster, strap on your piece, and head on out to the swinging-est joint in town ... at That Killing Feeling.

Unto today's action-packed episode from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY. Better buckle up, kids ... cause it's gonna be a bumpy ride.

With the media in place, wanted fugitive/screenwriter Friday Foster, having taken the executives at White Line Pictures hostage, is about to make her demands ...

When she's interrupeted ...

By the cops.

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

Jimmy Joe holds his piece on the group. Smiles.

DON

You realize you’ve killed your chances

of starring in ACTION MOVIE 2 --

JIMMY JOE

Fuck your piece of shit ACTION MOVIE.

I’m only here because my agent begged me to.

(beat)

Like I would co-star with Lil’ Nig.

HANS

Jimmy Joe. Put ze gun down. Let’s talk about zis.

JIMMY JOE

Sorry, Girlie-man --

but the lil’ lady asked me to keep ya’ll covered,

an in tha int-rest of keepin’ ya’ll alive,

I’m gonna do jus’ that.

GARY

Fucking redneck.

This isn’t a goddamn movie, Jimmy Joe.

FRIDAY (O.C.)

Hell, no -- it’s A LOT more fun.

FRIDAY

comes in. Followed by Rebecca, holding her mike.

Carrie behind the camera. Kelly FLASHES the light.

Friday goes to the head of the table. Sits.

REBECCA

Coming to you live from White Line Pictures,

‘The Siege: Crisis in Development Hell.’

FRIDAY

(to the executives)

Don’t you just love it

when the media gives cool names

to wars and disasters?

(to Rebecca)

Cue the GRAPHICS.

Take me to the global village.

Let’s get that DEMOGRAPHIC.

REBECCA

ROLL CAMERA.

Rebecca raises her mike.

Cocks her head. Full of importance.

REBECCA (CONT’D)

This is Rebecca Diaz, Crime TV,

reporting to you live from White Line Pictures --

where Friday Foster has taken the top executives hostage.

FRIDAY

Damn straight. We shall overcome. Redemption song.

Free Nelson Mandella. I have a dream. All that shit.

REBECCA

As you can see, our captor is quite eloquent -- and irreverent.

FRIDAY

I’m a writer -- what do you expect?

‘Hi, Mom?’

REBECCA

No, but I’m rather surprised at your flip attitude,

and that you seem to be having fun.

You’re not even scared.

FRIDAY

Scared? Can you say EMPOWERED?

(points Uzi at her)

Enough fucking around, let’s hurry this up.

Before I spray your shellacked head like chunks in sauce.

REBECCA

Okay, okay --

so, tell us, what are your demands?

FRIDAY

All I want -- is this Hollywood hack --

(points gun at Don)

To apologize for ruining my fucking life.

REBECCA

(whirls to the camera)

And in a stunning surprise,

we’ve learned that Friday’s demand isn’t money,

or anything material, not even a movie deal.

(pause for effect)

She just wants an apology.

In these consumer-driven modern times,

it’s refreshing to see someone who --

CARRIE

Enough with the reportage.

Let Red apologize.

FRIDAY

Carrie? First at the club, and now here?

What are you, fucking stalking me?

CARRIE

I want to help you.

If you surrender,

maybe I can help you get a deal,

get a lighter sentence.

REBECCA

Wait a minute.

Now I know where I’ve seen you --

you’re that cop that got suspended,

it was all over the news.

KELLY

Are you kidding me?

That means we’ve been breaking the law.

CARRIE

Well, if you want to split hairs.

KELLY

No wonder you wanted to help her --

you’re an outlaw, too.

FRIDAY

Kelly? Kelly Klavan?

What are YOU doing here?

What is this? Former-FUCK week?

KELLY

Friday. Nice to see you. I’m, uh --

here to tell your story.

I’m a journalist, too, you know.

Friday stares at Kelly. Then Carrie. Head reeling.

JIMMY JOE

Well, shit -- I kin read the subtext here.

If these two were willin’ ta risk their lives

tryin’ to help ya, ya must be one helluva lover.

FRIDAY

I’ve had no complaints.

DON

What is this, the fucking View?

GARY

It’s more like Jerry Springer.

HANS

Fuck Jerry Springer. Is like Dr. Phil.

And I HATE Dr. Phil. Fucking QUACK.

Fat fucking tub of lard with DIET BOOK.

FRIDAY

Everybody SHUT UP.

Let’s DO IT, NOW.

(to Carrie and Kelly)

Lights, camera -- ANGER.

THE CAMERA

shoots Don. In close up.

FRIDAY (O.C.) (CONT'D)

I’m waiting --

DON

As the chairman of White Line Pictures,

I’d, uh -- like to apologize --

A DEEP, MALE VOICE BOOMS

over a loudspeaker from outside.

DEEP, MALE VOICE (O.C.)

Friday Foster! This is the police!

We have you surrounded!

Come out with your hands up,

and you won’t be hurt!

FRIDAY

Damn. They really say that?

The Belly Of The Beast

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday ... will they hang a noose on you? Alright, alright ... I've used that one before. YOU try writing something cute and clever here every day. So enough fooling around, and get your asses IN HERE ... and belly up for your daily crime fix at That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's joint from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, and this one's a corker. You see, everyone is closing on in wanted fugutive/screenwriter Friday Foster, who is holding the executives of White Line Pictures hostage at gun point in the conference room ...

There's white slave trafficker Bland Loosener, who is climbing up the elevator shaft ...

And Rebecca Diaz, anchor-babe form Crime Time News, who is there to get the story ...

And last but not least, Friday's spurned lover/rogue cop Carrie Love, who, along with reporter Kelly Klavan, are about to go into the belly of the beast ...

INT. ELEVATOR - AT THAT MOMENT

Bland stands in a corner. Jumps up on the handrails.

Feet at forty-five degree angles. Ass up against the wall.

He PUNCHES the trap door in the ceiling. Nothing happens.

BLAND

Ow.

(rubs his hand)

I will not ABORT.

Bland inspects it. Reaches up. Clicks the latch. Opens it.

BLAND (CONT’D)

Good job, soldier.

INT. STAIRWELL - AT THAT MOMENT

Rebecca and Lighting Guy charge up the stairs.

Bald Cameraman follows, half a flight down. Huffing and puffing.

BALD CAMERAMAN

I’m gonna burst a blood vessel!

REBECCA

(over her shoulder)

Good! Great B-roll footage!

Make sure you leave the camera on!

Her phone RINGS. She stops. Answers it.

REBECCA (CONT’D)

This better be good --

(listens)

What? The cops JUST GOT HERE?

(to the crew)

We beat the fucking cops AGAIN.

(into the phone)

No -- I’m almost inside.

Get another crew down here,

they can shoot the piggies coming to market.

(hangs up, to the crew)

Alright, let’s get moving --

we’re going into the belly of the beast.

Bald Camerman’s stomach GROWLS.

EXT. ROBERTSON BOULEVARD - DAY

A squad car SCREECHES to a stop at the curb. Then two more.

COPS pour out. RUN toward the building.

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE - CONTINUOUS

Barricades have been set up. A line of cops in riot gear,

shields, assault rifles, stand in formation.

INT. ELEVATOR SHAFT - AT THAT MOMENT

Bland climbs up the cable.

Sees the other car coming down from above.

Just as it passes by, he SWINGS toward it,

LETS GO of the cable, and LANDS on top of it with a THUD.

BLAND

We’re going in, CAPTAIN.

INT. SIXTH FLOOR ELEVATORS - AT THAT MOMENT

Carrie and Kelly creep up toward the lobby entrance.

She pulls a gun out of her boot. Leans against the wall. Listens.

FRIDAY (O.C.)

And, you -- ex-boss from hell.

You made me read your piece-of-shit screenplay.

AND give you notes on it.

Right, like I could really be honest with my BOSS?

It was painful, the WORST PIECE OF SHIT I ever READ.

'The Whimsy.'

(low)

How DARE you.

CARRIE

(whispers)

She’s really mad.

KELLY

About reading a script?

CARRIE

Well, look where we are.

REBECCA (O.C.)

Come on, this way. Shhh. Be careful.

REBECCA DIAZ

and Lighting Guy approach.

REBECCA (CONT’D)

Who are you? What channel are you with?

You look familiar --

(sees the gun)

Oh, shit.

CARRIE

(sharp whisper)

Quiet. I’m a fucking cop --

REBECCA

(flashes press ID)

And I’m a reporter.

LIGHTING GUY

I do the lights.

(to Kelly)

Hi, there.

KELLY

Hi. I’m Kelly. I’m a print journalist.

(beat)

Nice -- instrument.

BALD CAMERAMAN

appears in the stairwell doorway. Sweating. Red-faced.

REBECCA

There you are. Get your fat ass over here.

BALD CAMERAMAN

I don’t feel -- so good --

He HITS the flood with a THUD.

REBECCA

Shit.

LIGHTING GUY

Low blood sugar.

I told Scott to have a snack, but no --

he said he’s on a diet.

CARRIE

Shhhhh. She’ll hear us.

(beat)

I gotta think --

REBECCA

(to Lighting)

Great. Who’s gonna operate the camera?

CARRIE

I am.

She goes to the lying figure. Picks up the Sony digital.

KELLY

But she’ll recognize you.

CARRIE

Not if I’m in disguise.

(to Lighting)

Gimmee your hat.

LIGHTING GUY

Sorry, doll. It’s Prada.

REBECCA

(to Lighting Guy)

Howard.

He takes it off. Hands it over. Carrie slides it on.

CARRIE

Kelly, you’re gonna operate the lights.

HOWARD

I can’t let him --

CARRIE

Oh, yes you can --

do you want to be charged with obstructing justice?

HOWARD

Okay. But be careful. It’s not a toy.

He takes off his shoulder harness and kit.

Hands them to Kelly. Who slides them on.

Carefully passes over his light.

KELLY

Wow. It’s heavy. I bet it’s a --

HOWARD

Good workout.

CARRIE

(to Rebecca)

Okay, anchor-babe, here’s the plan.

We go in, nice and slow --

REBECCA

I’m not going in there. I could get shot.

CARRIE

She’s not going to hurt us.

She ASKED for a news crew --

she wants to deliver a statement.

KELLY

I thought you were the big, investigative reporter?

REBECCA

I am.

(beat)

From a distance.

FRIDAY (O.C.)

Holy shit. It’s the media.

I thought I heard something out here.

Friday appears. Magnum in one hand. Uzi in the other.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

Come on kids, join the party.

Gotta late breakin’ bulletin for ya --

Grand Theft Gnarly

Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. America. You say Monday's got your down? Feeling a little tired? Bored with your dreary life? Lookin' for some action? Then get your tight little ass over to the only crime scene in town ... at That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's joint from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, where things are about to come to a boil.

White slave trafficker/Marine Bland Loosener has arrived on the scene at White Line Pictures, hot in pursuit of wanted fugitive/screenwriter Friday Foster, who has taken the employees hostage, and is holed up in the conference room ...

Meanwhile, the media has just arrived in the form of 'Crime Time News,' featuring anchor-babe Rebecca Diaz, hot for this late breaking story ...

And what of our hostage-taking, revenge-seeking Friday?

She's bickering with the executives, angry as hell, and has a semi-automatic weapon trained on ...

The studio's 'Best Picture' Oscar.

INT. ELEVATOR - AT THAT MOMENT

Bland rides up slowly. He PUNCHES the ‘up’ button repeatedly.

BLAND

Reporting for duty, SIR --

Gears GRIND. A loud POP. The car stops.

BLAND (CONT’D)

Mechanical failure, Sergeant!

He GRABS the phone. Starts pressing buttons.

BLAND (CONT’D)

Command to base! Command to base!

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE

A NEWS CREW comes barrelling through the doors.

REBECCA DIAZ, delicious in mini-skirt and boots,

portly BALD CAMERAMAN

and a great-looking BLACK LIGHTING GUY.

Rebecca dashes over to Mr. George. FLASHES her credentials.

REBECCA

Rebecca Diaz, Crime TV.

MR. GEORGE

Crime TV?

REBECCA

Yes. We’re here for The Siege.

MR. GEORGE

‘The Siege?’ What is -- The Siege?

REBECCA

Don’t you watch television?

Friday Foster has taken a dozen hostages

in your conference room with a semi-automatic weapon.

MR. GEORGE

I don’t watch televisions. They are berry, berry bad --

(realizes)

Friday Foster? Has taken hostages?

REBECCA

Yes. And it’s MY STORY, understand?

Now what fucking floor is the conference room on?

MR. GEORGE

I’m not going to tell you. You are a berry rude lady.

BALD CAMERAMAN

(looks off camera)

The light stopped on six. They must be on six.

MR. GEORGE

Alright, okay -- they’re on six.

But you must sign the book before I let you in.

REBECCA

‘Let me in?’ LET ME IN?

Do you realize who the FUCK I am?

(to the crew)

C’mon boys, let’s leave Idi Amin to his precious little book.

They dash over to the elevator.

MR. GEORGE

Hey! Idi Amin was from GHANA.

I am from JAMAICA, you racist stoopid-woman!

The crew watches the elevator lights. Not moving.

One is stopped on three. The other on six.

REBECCA

Goddamit. They’re not moving.

LIGHTING GUY

Let’s take the stairs. Great cardio.

BALD CAMERAMAN

Fuck that. You want me to have a heart attack?

REBECCA

Actually, yes -- I’d love it.

Then maybe I could get a crew that cared about

GETTING THE FUCKING STORY.

Now, move it, ton of fun. March.

EXT. SIXTH FLOOR - AT THAT MOMENT

Carrie closes the phone box in the elevator.

KELLY

You are a genius. How long will they hold the elevator?

CARRIE

Until they figure out it’s a fake,

we probably have about fifteen minutes.

EXT. ACROSS THE STREET - AT THAT MOMENT

A gorgeous, mini-suited FEMALE REPORTER

is doing man-on-the street interviews.

Next to her is a SPICOLI-LIKE STONER DUDE (18),

wearing a FREE FRIDAY T-shirt. Sips from a longneck.

FEMALE REPORTER

This is Holly Hand, News 5 On Your Side,

and we’re here in front of White Line Pictures,

where a crowd has assembled for The Siege.

(points the mike at Stoner)

Your T-shirt -- is Friday Foster a hero to you?

SPICOLI-LIKE STONER DUDE

Friday is the MAN. With tits. Grand Theft Gnarly.

What’s your damage, Heather?

You have a brain tumor for breakfast?

An ALTERNA-CHICK (17) with dayglo hair

in a BONUS POINTS T-shirt GRABS the mike.

Holds a large super-soaker SQUIRT GUN.

ALTERNA-CHICK

A big, bright PAGEANT SMILE!?

And SOAKS her. Stoner fires up a joint. ROARS with laughter.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT

Friday waves the Uzi at the suits. Jimmy Joe listens.

FRIDAY

So they offered me a deal, optioned the script,

got the wheels in motion, fast-tracked my payment,

I quit my job --

JIMMY JOE

And then they pulled the plug.

FRIDAY

AFTER the story had hit the trades,

after they fucking OUTED ME.

(to Don)

You fucking promised, asshole.

JIMMY JOE

So what do you reckon yer gonna do?

DON

Jimmy Joe, shut up the fuck up.

You’re egging her on.

GARY

Idiot. You could become an accessory.

HANS

Like vat, a handbag?

JIMMY JOE

Shut up, all a’ y’all. This lady’s goddamn angry,

and we’re gonna have to figure out a way to satisfy her --

or else we’re gonna have ourselves a Dog Day Afternoon here.

GARY

Then let’s hurry this the fuck up.

I’ve got a story meeting at ten.

FRIDAY

FUCK your story meeting. THIS is the story.

And I want a news crew in here, NOW.

The revolution WILL be televised.

DON

And what are you gonna tell them --

that we’re being held hostage by a SCREENWRITER?

FRIDAY

You bet your fucking ASS.

Friday raises her MAGNUM. Points it at Don.

Everybody GASPS. She turns. Takes aim at --

AN ACADEMY AWARD

sitting on a shelf at the far end of the room.

FRIDAY

CLICKS the safety.

FRIDAY (CONT'D)

I’d like to thank God, my mom, my agent --

And SHOOTS -- BANG. The Oscar SHATTERS.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

And all the LITTLE PEOPLE that FUCKED ME.

DON

You, you shot --

GARY

Our best picture OSCAR.

FRIDAY

I never watch the Academy Awards.

(beat)

I’m more of an Independent Spirit kinda gal.

Like A Carrot On A Dick

Ah, Sunday. A day of ... depravity. Sin. Sloth. Envy. Unspeakable acts of violence. A day when you've had enough, and something inside you SNAPS ... and you get That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's lip-smackin' sequence from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, where things are really heating up.

First up, while wanted fugitive/screenwriter Friday Foster holds White Line Pictures hostage at gunpoint, white slave trafficker/former Marine Bland Loosener is hot on her trail, and arrives on the scene ...

Just as disgraced cop/former flame Carrie Love, along with moonlighting reporter Kelly Klavan, join the festivites ...

While Friday make her demands of revenge.

And redemption.

Live, on TV.

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - FRONT ENTRANCE - MORNING

Bland BURSTS through the front door.

Dashes over to the front desk.

Gets in Mr. George’s face.

BLAND

Did a female just come in here?

Tall, big boobs -- brown hair?

MR. GEORGE

Friday Foster?

(off his nod)

Yes, she did.

Moments ago, in fact.

BLAND

I’m supposed to be in the meeting with her.

What floor did she go to?

MR. GEORGE

Six. But you have to sign the book first.

(beat)

Why are you dressed to go to war?

BLAND

Thanks.

(grabs the pen, signs)

Because the film biz IS war.

He goes to the elevators. Enters one.

MR. GEORGE

(reads the book)

Your name is Donald Duck?

BLAND

(as the elevator opens)

It’s a family name.

(loud)

DIS-MISSED.

The doors close.

CARRIE AND KELLY

race in. Out of breath.

Trot over the desk.

CARRIE

Did a woman come in here?

Her name is --

MR. GEORGE

Friday Foster?

Yes. She is quite popular.

You here for the meeting, too?

CARRIE

What floor is ‘the meeting’ on?

KELLY

Who else came here for 'the meeting?'

MR. GEORGE

(to Kelly)

Tall, military gentleman in camouflage.

A Mr. Duck.

(to Carrie)

On six. Executive floor.

CARRIE

Duck? What the fuck kinda name is that?

MR. GEORGE

It’s a family name.

I find it rather charming, myself.

And I’m a big supporter of fowl.

Sign in, please. Security reasons --

we have top security.

CARRIE

(signs, sarcastic)

Well, that’s obvious.

Kelly signs.

Carrie dashes over to the elevator.

Then, Kelly.

MR. GEORGE

Your names are 'Mr. and Mrs. Pig?'

CARRIE

Yeah. He’s Porky, and I’m Oprah.

Kinda ironic. I’m the cop --

KELLY

A-bee-a-da-bee-a-da-bee-a-da-bee --

Th-th-tha-at’s all, folks.

The doors close.

MR. GEORGE

(shakes his head slowly)

That must be some kinda meeting.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT

Carrie gets in Don’s face.

FRIDAY

I want a news crew, NOW.

DON

Get that fucking gun out of my face.

GARY

We’ll release a statement to Variety.

FRIDAY

No. FUCK Variety.

They report SHIT. LIES.

I’m talking REAL MEDIA.

This is MY LIFE, my ART, my CRAFT --

not some bullshit PR high-concept SPIN.

(quiet, deadly)

This is the story of a writer whose passion project

was dangled in front of her like a carrot on a DICK,

and then wiped on her ass

and flushed down the FUCKING TOILET.

DON

Listen to me, you smug little wannabe.

I’m the head of this fucking studio,

I DANCE WITH THE DEVIL,

and not EVEN I have green light power!

We vote by COMMITTEE.

And marketing didn’t know how to sell it,

they said it was too --

FRIDAY

What? Edgy? Controversial?

But that’s what you LIKED about it,

you fucking phony, hypocritical DUMB-SHIT.

(beat)

And you had the NERVE so say that ‘Brave New Girl’

was ‘the best script you ever read.’

JIMMY JOE

Brave New Girl?

You wrote that?

I LOVED that script.

They were gonna offer me the part of --

uh, what’s his name -- Serge.

FRIDAY

Serge? You’re not right for Serge.

What part of ‘tall, dark, and Euro-suave’ didn’t you get?

JIMMY JOE

Hey, my agent sent it to me.

Can’t blame a guy for tryin’ to stretch.

Besides, I’ve always been curious about --your kinda gurl.

FRIDAY

You have?

JIMMY JOE

Well, after you’ve exchanged vows written in blood

with the hottest woman on the planet,

all the rest are just vanilla.

FRIDAY

You know, you’re much better looking in person.

JIMMY JOE

(shy)

Uh -- thanks.

(beat)

You’re not so bad yourself --

Who Do I Look Like, Diablo Cody?

So your wife left you. Your mortgage has been forclosed. You've been evicted. Your car got repoed. And you lost your job. Guess you'd be a little angry, too. Might wanna go grab a gun ... and get That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's juicy pulp scenario from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY. When we last left our story, wanted fugtive/screenwriter Friday Foster has stormed into her former place of work, White Line Pictures, with an Uzi submachine gun ... angry as hell, and not gonna to take it anymore.

Ladies and gentlemen, take your hostages, please ...

INT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - LOBBY - MORNING

FRIDAY

pointing the Uzi at Gary.

FRIDAY

Hey, Gare. Remember me?

I did four years in this slime hole --

The SCREENWRITER that got

‘THE BEST COVERAGE YOU EVER READ?’

GARY

Sunday. What the fuck are YOU doing here?

(beat)

Is that a real gun?

FRIDAY

You bet your back end it is.

And it’s FRIDAY, you fucking tub of Mick.

(to him, Devra and Jimmy)

Okay. NOW. Into the conference room.

We’re TAKING A MEETING.

Everyone stares.

Friday pumps the magazine, KA-CHINK.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

Move it.

Or else I’m gonna fucking Abu Ghraib the lot of you.

JIMMY JOE

Y’all better move it. I think the lady’s serious.

Gary, Jimmy Joe and Devra start moving.

They pass a row of ASSISTANTS, watching in horror.

FRIDAY

You, too -- Hollywood Gatekeepers.

Put down your coverage,

I’ve got you surrounded.

IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM. NOW.

INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

Friday’s hostages sit around the large lux table.

Bright morning sunlight streams in through wall-sized windows.

FRIDAY

Gary. Close the blinds.

Don’t want the paparazzi

to get any shots of your imminent demise.

GARY

(puts his hands on the table)

Go fuck yourself.

Incensed, Friday BANGS the gun down on his hand.

SMASHING it.

GARY (CONT’D)

Ow!

FRIDAY

You think I’m fucking around? DO IT. Now.

Before I shoot your TENT-POLE.

He gets up. Goes to the blinds. Closes them.

HANS WOLFE, (50’s) head of marketing,

stern-looking, designer specs,

puffy, pokes his head in. Grumpy. Quizzical.

HANS

Vat is zis? Some kinda in-house focus group?

DON GREY (60’s), grey-haired, grey-skinned, shuffles in.

Shoeless. Mismatched socks.

You’d never know from looking,

but he’s the head of the studio.

Indie maverick deluxe.

As usual, right now he’s nursing a nasty hangover.

DON

What THE FUCK is going on in here?

(sees Friday)

Friday, you’re back.

(evil smile)

Go get me a latte, NOW.

FRIDAY

(whips guns at them)

Hello, boss -- or should I say SATAN?

It’s me, your worst nightmare,

back from the dead, and pissed as hell.

So why don’t you and HITLER

get your bony white asses in here?

You’re just in time for the climax of the story arc.

HANS

You -- have a gun.

FRIDAY

Brilliant observation, Hansie-boy.

Now get your NAZI-ASS IN HERE.

They come in.

DON

What the fuck do you want, money?

FRIDAY

No. I have money.

DON

Then, WHAT?

HANS

She vants her deal back, Don.

Goddammit, are yoo fuckin’ stupid.

GARY

Shut up, Hans.

DON

Shut up, Gary.

I’m in charge here.

FRIDAY

Shut THE FUCK UP, all of you -- I’M in charge.

DON

So, what -- you want to make a DEAL?

FRIDAY

Who do I look like, Diablo Cody?

No, it’s too late for that.

DON

Then what THE FUCK do you WANT?

FRIDAY

An apology.

(beat)

Live. On TV.

Take Me To Your D-Girl

Happy Friday, crime fucks. Are you ready for the weekend? I said, ARE YOU READY? Are youtalking TO ME? Well, ARE YOU? Then get ass in gear and behold the next blistering hot installment of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, right here on That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's episode, and this one is a doozy. You see, this story is a bit autobiographical. I used to work at New Line Cinema, a place where the PR was 'we love to buy screenplays written by our employees.' Well, guess what. At one point that was true, but by the time I got there, that myth had been mostly debunked. There was a new emperor in charge, and not only was he wearing no clothes, but he couldn't pick scripts for shit.

So, I started to imagine what it would like to take the movie studio hostage. At gun point.

Just like Friday Foster does in our story ...

EXT. ROBERTSON BOULEVARD - MORNING

Friday steps off the coffee shop patio, turns left.

Starts walking south. On a mission.

UP THE BLOCK

Bland comes FLYING down the sidewalk

toward the intersection.

A SUIT

saunters toward the corne.

Talking on his hands-free.

SUIT

Listen to me.

Ashton Kutcher was BORN to play ‘Young Orson Wells’ --

Bland CRASHES into him, BANG.

The bike goes FLYING.

The suit CRACKS against a telephone pole.

Hits the ground. Out cold.

Bland gets up. Brushes himself off. People stop. Stare.

BLAND

What are you looking at?

At ease, go about your business.

He pulls the PDA out of his pocket.

Looks at the blinking light.

Sees up ahead -- the coffee shop. Takes off.

UP THE BLOCK

Carrie’s wheels come flying down Robertson.

The Vespa close behind.

A DOG

runs into the street.

KELLY

sees it. SLAMS on the brakes. SCREECHING rubber.

KELLY

Move, doggie!

CARRIE

tries to stop, but POPS A WHEELIE instead,

and IN SLOW MOTION

flies through the air --

and HITS the car’s rear window, CRASH.

Glass SPRAYS like water.

The back half of the Vespa sticks out the rear window.

Carrie lies on the roof. Dazed. She jumps off.

Dashes to the passenger side door.

Gets in. Kelly stares. Open-mouthed.

CARRIE

Don’t say a word. Just drive.

EXT. UPSCALE COFFEE SHOP - AT THAT MOMENT

Bland comes outside. Looks around.

Carrie’s car pulls over the curb across the street. Parks.

KELLY

sees Bland.

KELLY

There he is. Across the street.

CARRIE

(grabs the door handle)

C’mon, let’s go.

KELLY

Where do you get all that energy?

CARRIE

I need -- to help her.

PUSH IN ON Carrie’s face. Eyes wet. Determined.

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - MORNING

Men Without Hats’ scary-surreal cover of The Beatles’

I AM THE WALRUS crunches over --

Friday. Standing in front of the entrance.

FRIDAY

Goo-goo-ga-joob.

She SLAMS through the doors. STOMPS through the lobby.

Behind the security desk, MR. GEORGE smiles toothily at Friday.

Shiny, beaming Jamaican face full of joy.

MR. GEORGE

Meess Friday. Nice to see yoo. Yoo come for a visit?

FRIDAY

Screwy rabbit -- visits are for kids.

Mr. George stares at her. Uncomprehending.

Carrie goes to the elevator bank. Presses ‘up.’

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

That’s right, I forgot. You don’t watch TV, do you?

MR. GEORGE

No, ma’am. Ees all garbage.

FRIDAY

Opiate of the masses.

Dulling our nation’s senses.

One show at a time --

THE ELEVATOR DOORS

open. Friday walks over. Steps in.

MR. GEORGE

Yoo okay, Miss Friday? You acting kinda -- strange.

FRIDAY

(as the doors close)

I’m a stranger in a strange land, George.

THE ELEVATOR DOORS

open. The sixth floor. Where the big boys live.

Friday walks out. Looks at a giant cardboard standee

of the studio’s action franchise. ‘DRIVE-BY 3.’

Two good-looking BLACK COPS stand back-to-back.

Brandishing shotguns. Grinning like the archetypes they are.

FRIDAY (CONT'D)

Move over, boys. There’s a new anti-hero in town.

She pushes open metal double doors, enters --

THE WAITING AREA

Surprisingly small. But then, this IS a mini-major.

Behind the front desk sits DEVRA, rotund, bespectacled receptionist.

Dickensian features light up when she spies Friday.

DEVRA

Friday. I can’t believe you’re here. You’re all over the news.

(beat)

You, uh -- have an appointment?

FRIDAY

(whips out Uzi)

THIS is my appointment.

I’ve got a date with destiny, baby.

Take me to your D-girl.

(off her shock)

Hey. Got a joke for ya.

How do you make love to four-hundred pound woman?

(beat)

Roll ‘er in flour, and look for the wet spot.

But Devra is frozen. In shock.

A MALE VOICE laughs.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)

Thas’ fuckin’ funny! Ha ha ha ha ha ha --

Friday WHIPS AROUND to see --

JIMMY JOE JACK

(40’s) sitting on the couch. Indie Movie Star.

Hollywood outlaw. Big ol’ grin on his face.

Still a shit-kicker. Western wear a’la Rodeo Drive.

He chews tobacco. SPITS.

JIMMY JOE

And she’s gotta gun. Whoah, Nelly.

You a method actress --

or did the studio fuck you in the ass too?

FRIDAY

Hershey Highway. No lube.

(offers her hand)

Big fan, Jimmy Joe. ‘Fucking Christmas,’ best film of the year.

JIMMY JOE

(shakes)

Thanks. So, what’s with the firepower --

you plan on shootin’ up the place?

(sly)

Need any help?

GARY GILL (35) head of production ambles in.

Redheaded, pale, freckled.

A bloated barrel of lumbering, dull, pomposity.

Walks over to the desk. Squints at Devra.

GARY

Any messages?

Devra just blinks. Terrified. Nods at --

FRIDAY

pointing the Uzi at Gary.

FRIDAY

Hey, Gare. Remember me?

I did four years in this slime hole --

The SCREENWRITER that got

‘THE BEST COVERAGE YOU EVER READ?’

GARY

Sunday. What the fuck are YOU doing here?

(beat)

Is that a real gun?

FRIDAY

You bet your back end it is.

And it’s FRIDAY, you fucking tub of Mick.

(to him, Devra and Jimmy)

Okay. NOW. Into the conference room.

(beat)

We’re taking a MEETING.

Like Shooting Fish In Your Pants

Happy Thursday, crime freaks. Feeling angry? Frustrated? Life getting you down? Then why don't you swing on by to the joint where the chicks are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled action is sizzling ... over at That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's depraved episode from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY. This one is a personal favorite of mine, as it's genesis is in something that drives me fucking batshit crazy. Here in LA, the trendy coffee shops are filled with wannabe screenwriters, sitting there with their laptops, writing 'the great American screenplay' for the world to see .. and be impressed with. Bugs the shit out of me. For me, writing is a private thing ... I could NEVER do it in public. I only work deep down in my lair, where my imagination can roam free.

NOT in some fucking airbrushed, art-directed, overpriced Star-fucks.

Whoops. Almost got a little carried away with myself. But that's how I am. Passionate about my work.

So let's find out what happens when wanted fugitive/would-be screenwriter Friday Foster, about to go on her mission of revenge, takes a quick-pit stop in one of these joints ...

Because, you see, the joint she's about to terrorize doesn't open for fifteen minutes ...

EXT. UPSCALE COFFEE SHOP - DAY

A despicable, over-priced hangout for wannabe-trendies

who don’t have a clue about ambiance. Style. Passion. Reality.

Friday walks up to the door. Stops. Looks at her watch.

FRIDAY

Fifteen minutes to go.

(looks in the window)

Uch. The pause that depresses --

INT. UPSCALE COFFEE SHOP - CONTINUOUS

Friday bursts in. SLAMS the doors open.

FRIDAY

Greetings, fellow consumers.

People look up. Quizzical. Except for a

GOATEED POSEUR

at a table with his laptop.

Deep in his faux version of ‘thought.’ Sips his latte.

One-finger types on the keyboard.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

Like shooting fish in your pants.

She takes the table next to his.

Puts down her stuff.

Poseur’s phone RINGS. He answers it.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

This outta be good --

GOATEED POSEUR

‘Lo. This is Tykey --

FRIDAY

‘Tykey?’

TYKEY

Oh, yeah -- it’s at Mark Wahlberg’s joint.

S’gonna be a blowout --

FRIDAY

Joint? Who the fuck do you think you are, Spike Lee?

(off his look)

Yeah, you -- I’m talking to you.

Can you speak a little louder?

Cause I don’t want to miss a SINGLE DETAIL

about your FASCINATING LIFE.

TYKEY

Excuse me. This is a private conversation.

FRIDAY

No it’s not, not when you’re fucking BROADCASTING IT

in a public place for EVERYONE TO HEAR.

A ‘private conversation’ is at home, or in the office --

but what you’re doing is BOTHERING EVERYONE

with your STAR-FUCKING.

TYKEY

What is your problem?

FRIDAY

My PROBLEM is fucking POSERS like YOU,

showing off in public,

PRETENDING to write some PIECE OF SHIT

studio CRAP, when all you’re REALLY DOING

is trying to GET LAID.

TYKEY

Fuck you. Mind your own business.

She GRABS his laptop --

TYKEY (CONT’D)

Hey! Give that back!

FRIDAY

Hold on -- let’s just check this out --

(reads)

'Interior, dorm room. A beer blast is raging. '

Pure shit, I knew it --

(punches keys)

Just let me -- erase this -- HA, done.

TYKEY

(leaps up)

You fucking CUNT!

Friday WHIPS OUT her piece.

SHOVES it into his crotch.

FRIDAY

WHAT did you call me?

TYKEY

Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!

FRIDAY

I asked you a QUESTION, asshole.

WHAT did you call me?

TYKEY

A -- cunt.

FRIDAY

What did you say? I can’t HEAR YOU.

TYKEY

A cunt, okay? I’m sorry.

P-Please don’t shoot me.

FRIDAY

Nice vocabulary --

and you’re supposed to be a writer.

Prepare -- to meet -- your maker.

Eunuch time.

TYKEY

No, PLEASE.

A dark, WET STAIN forms on his cargo pant shorts.

FRIDAY

Hey, you peed your pants.

Bonus points. You get to live.

(lowers the gun)

Thanks. That was fun.

(beat)

Silly rabbit, I wouldn’t shoot Little Willie.

I know you think with it.

She turns to leave.

A CUTE CO-ED

stares, wide-eyed.

Cell phone clamped against her ear.

Whispering into it.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)

Hey, Gidget. Shut off your security blanket.

Can’t you see you’re being terrorized?

COED

(on the phone)

And she’s got a gun --

Friday marches over. GRABS the phone.

SLAMS it on the floor. STOMPS on it.

SMASHES it to pieces.

FRIDAY

Whoops. Conversatious interruptus.

God, that’s satisfying, GRRRRRR. Cathartic.

She goes to the door. Opens it. Turns, looks at them.

FRIDAY (CONT'D)

You’re all lemmings.

Empty victims of marketing,

filling yourselves with shit.

(brightly)

Ciao, kids. Time for my nine-o’clock.

Wish me luck.

The Magnificent Seven

Welcome to the scene of the crime, kids. The coolest joint in cyberspace for the most action-packed, hardboiled, manic pulp kicks around. So get your lazy asses in here, strap one one on, take careful aim ... and get That Killing Feeling.

Onto today's blistering scene from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY. Better hold onto your seats, hipsters, because today we've got ourselves a classic chase scene.

Or, as Kelly Klavan puts it ...

'This is like The Bourne Identity. I LOVE IT.'

So let's join the action, where disgraced cop Carrie Love, joined by the aforementioned journalist Kelly Klavan, are in hot pursuit of white slave trafficker/former Marine Bland Loosener, down the streets of West Hollywood ...

On a bicycle. Being chased by a car.

And a scooter ...

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - ALLEY - AT THAT MOMENT

The outlaw-swing of The Clash’s THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN over --

Carrie. TEARING ASS on foot down the cobblestones, reaches --

EXT. SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD - CONTINUOUS

Sidewalks mostly empty. But a crush of CARS clog the street.

Rush hour minions on their way to normalcy.

Carrie STOPS. WHIRLS AROUND. Looks, sees --

BLAND

sprinting down the sidewalk.

Reaching the next corner.

CARRIE

Hey, asshole!

Bland stops for traffic.

Sees a bicycle leaning against the railing of a sidewalk cafe.

Pulls out his gun. Shoots off the lock -- BANG.

GRABS the handlebars. HOPS on.

CARRIE

runs after him. Sees his two-wheeled escape vehicle.

CARRIE (CONT’D)

The Bicycle thief! Somebody stop him!

BLAND

hears her. Turns around, pedalling. Smiles, evil.

CARRIE

sprints. Hears a MOTOR GROWL.

Turns, sees --

A HOT CHICK

on a Vespa scooter.

Knapsack overflowing with books. UCLA.

CARRIE

runs up to the chick. Waves her arms.

CARRIE (CONT'D)

Police, off the bike! This is an emergency!

HOT UCLA CHICK

You’re not a cop. Fuck you.

CARRIE

Yes I fucking AM.

Carrie PUNCHES her in the jaw.

Coed slides off the bike.

She jumps on. Looks down.

Shakes her head.

CARRIE (CONT'D)

Kids these days.

HITS THE GAS, and TAKES OFF.

DOWN THE STREET

Kelly drives Carrie’s bomber. Fishtails.

HITS the curb. BANG.

Barrels down the sidewalk.

KELLY

I’m going to die, I’m going to die --

CARRIE

weaves between the cars.

BLAND

pedals north on the sidewalk.

KELLY

hits a trash can. BANG.

Pedestrians JUMP out of the way.

CARRIE

looks to her left. Sees her car. Kelly.

CARRIE

What the FUCK do you think you’re doing!

KELLY

leans out the window.

KELLY

I’m chasing him!

CARRIE

So am I! Pull over!

You fuck up my car, I’m gonna kill you!

They reach an intersection. Stop.

Traffic pours by, blocking them.

Carrie POUNDS the handlebars.

CARRIE (CONT’D)

Eat me!

Bland WHIZZES by. Going south.

CARRIE (CONT’D)

There he goes! Down San Vicente!

KELLY

Let’s go!

CARRIE

How?

KELLY

Follow me!

This is like the Bourne Identity!

I LOVE IT.

Kelly pushes the nose of the car into traffic.

A MINI COOPER BANGS into his rear fender.

CARRIE

Goddammit!

She turns the wheel, RAMS into the Mini.

MINI COOPER DRIVER

Hey!

CARRIE

Fuck you! You hit my car!

KELLY

leans out his window.

KELLY

Carrie! He’s getting away! C’mon --

He GUNS it, turns right, going south.

CARRIE

ZOOMS away, hot on his tail.

UP AHEAD

Bland pumps furiously on the bike.

Pulls a PDA out of his pocket.

Fingers the buttons. Looks at --

A MAP

of the area. A blinking RED LIGHT pulses,

a couple of blocks from a pop-up

that reads ‘YOU ARE HERE.’

BLAND

looks to his right. A small, city PARK.

He turns, rides up on the grass.

FLIES BY a swing set and jungle gym.

Two CHILDREN swing on the swings.

BLACK KID

Look. Crazy man ridin’ on the grass --

CARRIE

on the Vespa, followed by Kelly in her car WHIZ by.

HISPANIC KID

Shit. Look at that.

BLACK KID

Damn. I can’t wait until I can drive.