Onto today's joint from HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, and things are about to get a little kinky. Hold onto your restraints, kids ...
First up, white slave trafficker/former Marine Bland Loosener searches Friday Foster's apartment, where he finds a clue as to where she might be heading ...
Then, Friday, now ensconced at the Chateau Marmont, has slipped into something a little ... rubber, and is getting ready to step out for the evening ... and then confronts her neighbor, who just happens to be a vicious gansta ...
Meanwhile, back at Friday's apartment, Carrie Love searches the joint looking for clues, where she runs into Kelly Klaven, one of Friday's strangest one-night stands ...
INT. FRIDAY’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Dark. A FLASHLIGHT sweeping the blackness.
A FIGURE rifles through papers on a desk. Talks on a cell.
She’s a civilian, some kind of writer.
We realize it’s Bland.
What else? Just a pile of bills.
There’s no power, no phone, just --
Wait a minute.
The light FLASHES on a club invite. ‘Club Fuck.’
With a drawing of a latex honey with a whip.
I just found one of her hangouts.
Invite says some big party tonight --
And I think somebody’s about due for a spanking.
INT. CHATEAU MARMONT - BUNGALOW 5 - NIGHT
Saucy, hip-shaking depravity on the stereo.
My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult’s
A MARTINI BUILT FOR TWO oozes promises of sin.
Salvation. Getting royally laid.
Friday’s poured into a red vinyl number that screams kinky.
Thigh-high boots. Maybe it’s the cowl.
Or is it the horns and tail -- that spell ‘devil.’
I sit here all alone, in a martini built for two --
The deviant sips a Kettle One vodka martini.
SNAPS a riding crop against her thigh.
Evil smile. Steps out onto --
EXT. BUNGALOW 5 - TERRACE - CONTINUOUS
Inky black humid nightfall. Distant traffic sounds.
Ugly, violent, RAP MUSIC blares from Bungalow 6.
HEY. Can you turn that jungle shit DOWN?
A huge, GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA appears.
An apparition in the dark. He raises an UZI.
What the bloody fuck?
Friday pulls out her piece. Aims it. Scowls.
THIS is ‘the fuck.’
Gangsta’s saftey CLICKS.
You have balls, lady.
No. I don’t.
I must say, you look positively smashing.
Would you like to go to a party?
Sorry, big guy. Already got one.
INT. FRIDAY’S APARTMENT - AT THAT MOMENT
A bright swath of light sweeps the living room, until --
It strikes a FEMALE FIGURE in black. Back turned.
MALE VOICE (O.C.)
The woman WHIPS AROUND. It’s CARRIE LOVE.
She WHIPS OUT a HANDGUN. SHINES a flashlight on --
holding an electric torch.
Police! Hold it right there! Identify yourself!
It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m not armed!
I’m a reporter, K-Kelly Klavan!
I’m a friend of hers.
Goddammit. You scared the shit out of me.
Then we’re even.
(puts hand on chest, feels)
Talk about beats per minute --
What are you doing here?
I saw the story on the news
and I thought maybe I could dig up something, a clue --
What paper are you with?
City Weekly. What division are you, robbery?
I’m a homicide detective.
City Weekly doesn’t cover crime.
So we’re both moonlighting.
I was -- seeing her.
So was I. Well, for one night.
But as you’ve just confirmed,
I didn’t have a chance,
as she is a sister of the saphic arts.
Carrie stares at him. Wheels turning. Her eyes flash.
Okay. Here’s the deal. I work better with a partner.
Helps not getting killed. Thing is, I’m officially off-duty.
So you need a partner.
Yeah. And I need to go undercover.
Do I get a gun?
Okay. I’m in.
You sure I can’t have a gun?
How about one without bullets?
It’s against the law.
But what if you need backup --
I SAID NO. And that means NO.
So zip it, before I change my mind.
Alight, okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
How about a realistic looking water-pistol?
Carrie pulls out her piece.
Aims it him. CLICKS the safety.
Okay. Okay. Okay. No gun. No gun.
As they start to leave --
You want to go get a cup of coffee?
And what, plot our strategy?
Nah. I hate that shit.