Onto today's joint from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, and the action starts to crank up a notch. Get ready, kids.
Disgruntled, unemployed screenwriter/car thief Friday Foster takes her new wheels for a spin, while she's being tracked by white slave traffickers Zvi Ben-Arut and Bland Loosener ... until she arrives at the scene of the temp job from hell ... and decides to stir up a little trouble ...
EXT. VENICE ALLEY - DAY
Friday PEELS OUT of the parking lot in a SCREECH of rubber.
HITS THE GAS -- and SPEEDS away. Laughing her head off.
EXT. OCEAN AVENUE - DAY
The Sentra flies up the gorgeous coastline.
Way over the speed limit. We see the pizza sign is gone.
INT. NISSAN SENTRA - CONTINUOUS
Friday rifles through a CD case on the seat.
Please forgive me, God. I’m not myself lately.
So then, the question is --
(rifles through CD’s)
Ohmigod. I lLOVE it. Yes.
She SHOVES a CD in.
CRANKS it up.
The biker-snarl of Concrete Blonde’s
GOD IS A BULLET screams with a bullet.
Friday sings along, POUNDS the steering wheel.
Shoot straight, shoot to kill, blame each other, blame yourself!
You know god is a bullet, have mercy on us everyone!
the light turns yellow.
shifts the piece of crap into gear --
Well, the light was a little pink, officer --
And FLIES through the intersection. Cars HONK.
A CITY BUS
SQUEALS it’s brakes.
pushing a stroller LEAPS out of the way.
The Sentra CRACKS into it.
FLIPPING it into the air.
It lands, BANG --
to reveal it’s empty.
She TEARS down Arizona. Looks in the rearview.
No one. Ha. Stops at a red light at 4th Street.
Hey. I got an idea.
No. Not a good idea. They know you.
But it would be SO delicious.
Better not, you’ve broken so many laws already --
The light turns GREEN.
I think a certain pompous, little
fuck-face needs to learn a lesson.
She turns left, heads north.
CAMERA passes storefronts.
Until, at the next intersection, on the corner --
EXT. THE LAMBERT INSTITUTE - CONTINUOUS
A lux, former bank on the corner. Now a six-story think tank.
A gold-plated sign reads THE LAMBERT INSTITUTE.
Whoah-oh-oh-oh, I’m gonna tear your playhouse down --
EXT. THE LAMBERT INSTITUTE - GARAGE ENTRANCE - CONTINUOUS
Friday drives the Sentra down into the underground garage.
EXT./INT. MERCEDES SUV - MOVING - AT THAT MOMENT
Bland drives, talks on his hands-free cell.
So where is it now?
SPLIT SCREEN WITH:
INT. MARINA DEL REY - BEACH CONDO - DAY
Zvi sits on the rooftop deck shirtless in shorts and shades.
Smoking a cigar. Fingers busy working a PDA.
(into his cell)
At the corner of Arizona and Fourth. Just turned north on Fourth --
Wait. It stopped moving. Bingo.
(looking out his window)
I don’t see it. It must be parking --
INT. LAMBERT INSTITUTE - PARKING GARAGE - AT THAT MOMENT
Friday walks to the elevator. Presses ‘up.’
FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Friday. What are you doing here?
She turns, looks, sees --
SUNNY, the Institute’s archivist.
Friendly face framed by long, greyish-blonde hair.
Former hippie, still granola.
Sunny, hey. Believe it or not,
I’ve got an appointment with Dann Israel.
The elevator doors open. They walk in.
Sunny swipes her key card on the security lock, presses ‘3.’
The doors close.
IN THE GARAGE
Bland pulls the SUV into a parking space. Sees the Sentra.
Enemy is now in my sights, SIR.
Taking POSITION --
IN THE ELEVATOR
And one of your characters is a Nobel Prize-winning Ph.D. in economics?
How did you guess?
The door opens onto a wood-panelled foyer.
Very hunting lodge. Going for studious. Academic.
You know what they say about visiting your old high school,
how everything looks so much smaller?
This looks even MORE self-important.