Onto today's steamin' hot slab of crime fiction for you, kiddies ... straight from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY.
First up, white slave trafficker/former Marine Bland Loosener pays a little visit to his boss, Zvi Ben-Arut, and gives him a most egregious severance package ...
Then, we see that desperate screenwriter/car jacker Friday Foster's exploits have become a big hit on YoutTube ...
And then, finally, a mysterious blonde checks into the Chateau Marmont ... with a little surprise in store.
EXT. MARINA DEL REY - OCEAN SHORELINE - NIGHT
Over the following sequence, the roiling, marshal-stomp of
The Gang of Four’s I LOVE A MAN IN A UNIFORM.
Moonlight. A LONE SURFER rides a CRASHING WAVE to shore.
We see it’s BLAND. Hang ten, dude. Rides the wave all the way in.
HOPS off the board. Starts walking.
EXT. BEACH CONDO - REAR ENTRANCE - MOMENTS LATER
Bland unscrews the faceplate to the SECURITY KEY CODE BOX.
SNIPS a wire. Takes out a lock-pick. Works it in the keyhole.
He pushes the door open.
IN THE ELEVATOR
riding up, Bland whistles along. Taps his toe.
AT ZVI’S FRONT DOOR
he pulls out a credit card. A long, thin screwdriver.
Works the door. It opens, click.
IN THE CORRIDOR
Bland tip-toes past expensive art. Sculptures. A MIRROR.
He stops. Looks at himself. Gives a ‘thumbs up.’ Winks.
AT A DOORWAY
he stops. Listens. We hear LOVEMAKING coming from within.
Bland carefully, slowly, leans around the doorway, sees --
lying in bed on top of Nymphet. Making love.
She looks at the ceiling. Counting the dots in the tiles.
He CLIMAXES. A short, abrupt YELP of pleasure.
The bon vivant climbs off. Sighs. Pads over to the bathroom.
rushes in, a BLUR OF SPEED. LEAPS in the air.
LANDS on the girl. CLAMPS a meaty hand on her mouth.
Pulls out a knife.
Scream and your face is a Jack O'lantern.
He SLAPS duct tape on her mouth.
Smiles. Holds the knife up.
A warning. Turns. Creeps over to --
where Zvi is taking a luxurious leak. Humming.
WHIPS a STEEL CORD around Zvi’s neck
and GARROTS HIM. Zvi’s body hits the tiles, THWUNK.
IN THE BEDROOM
Bland approaches the girl. Eyes full of wonder.
Strips off his shirt. Frightening tattoos of serpents and dragons.
He climbs on top of the trembling naif. Peels off the tape.
May I have the next dance?
The beast leans in. Kisses her softly.
She BITES HIS LIP. He CRIES OUT --
Ow! Fucking CUNT.
Massive mitts CLAMP DOWN around her head.
TWIST it -- CRACK.
It FALLS to the side. Lights out.
Child-like eyes, haunted by the sudden loss of the prize.
I hate when that happens --
INT. CHILD’S BEDROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
A pretty LITTLE GIRL (10) surfs the net on her pink I-Mac.
Sappy Hannah Montana-like music in the background.
ON THE SCREEN
We see she’s on YouTube.
Titles under the video window read BONUS POINTS.
The video starts -- on a familiar scene --
Friday WHIPS OUT her gun. Points it at the waitress.
A woman SCREAMS.
So, I’m gonna ask you to smile for me. Pretty please?
With sugar on top? A big, bright pageant smile?
The waitress DROPS her tray.
CLANG. Frozen, weird smile.
Friday places the gun against the waitress’s temple.
Bonus points if you pee your pants.
A TINY FINGER
EXT. CHATEAU MARMONT - NIGHT
A limo pulls up to the entrance. Stops. Ponytailed DRIVER gets out.
Walks to the passenger door. Opens it. Out steps --
A tall WOMAN. Massive mane of blonde. Big shades.
Cowboy hat. Sharkskin suit. Great legs.
She watches ponytail pull out luggage.
Shopping bags. A guitar case. A bird in a cage.
A BODYBUILDER-LOOKING PORTER
pulls a cart up to the mountain of Blonde’s stuff.
Good evening, Miss.
(flashes ring, Italian accent)
Oh, I’m marreed.
My name ees Francesca Bertolucci. My husband is --
Bernardo Bertolucci? Yes, ma’am. Right this way --
INT. CHATEAU MARMONT - REGISTRATION DESK - NIGHT
The officious FRONT DESK CLERK stares at a computer monitor.
I’m sorry, Mrs. Bertolucci, but I don’t see a reservation --
Eye’m going to ring dat assistant’s NECK.
Please look again. Bernardo will be most upset.
He’s joining me here in a couple of days.
No, I’m sorry, there’s no reservation for Bertolucci --
The blonde pulls a wad of bills out of her bag.
Starts peeling off hundreds.
Tell you what.
Why don’t you give me a nice, cute little bungalow --
and then go out on the town, on me.
She lays what looks like a couple thousand on the desk.
The clerk eyes bug. He swallows. Scoops them up. RINGS a bell.
Porter. Please show Mrs. Bertolucci to Bungalow 5.
EXT. BUNGALOW 5 - MOMENTS LATER
The porter wheels the Blonde’s things into the front door.
She follows, imperious.
INT. BUNGALOW 5 - CONTINUOUS
He shows her the lux digs.
Satellite plasma TV. Mini-bar. Jacuzzi.
Room service menu. Massage schedule.
(hands him a hundred)
Thanks, chief. Spend it in lots of places.
Enjoy your stay.
I always do.
He smiles. Nods. Leaves. She goes to the door.
Locks it. Looks around. SQUEALS with joy --
And WHIPS OFF her wig.
We see it’s FRIDAY.
Now this is more like it.
Hot and cold running decadence.
I’m gonna haveta find a suitcase full of cash more often --