Onto today's joint from LEGS, where our story really kicks into gear ...
First up, we meet demented German snuff film director Klaus Speer, who is about to shoot a little 'cinema verite' with a panic-striken starlet on Rollerblades ... at the top of the Hollywood Hills ...
Then we meet Felina Bella Donna, 'dominatrix to the stars' ...
And then we rejoin private eye Carrie Love, who is mourning the loss of her headless lover ...
INT. MERCEDES SUV - DAY
A beefy BLACK MAN viciously pokes the DRIVER in the arm.
I don't care, stop the fucking car! I'm gonna be --
He throws open the door and PUKES. The brakes SLAM.
Must have been a good party.
How come I wasn't invited?
A PARTY INVITATION
proclaims the "15th Annual Fetish Ball."
"Dress to Thrill," the embossed script dares.
INT. KITCHEN - DAY
A perverted, undulating kink-groove.
FELINA BELLA DONNA (29), lithe, cat-like, opens her mail.
Her chiseled, pale beauty a sharp contrast with her black vinyl dress --
a glossy outrage on the domestic landscape.
A MALE SLAVE eats from a dog food bowl on the floor.
She SNAPS his leash.
That's a good boy. Lick it clean.
The brunette bombshell touches her ear, listens.
Stop it. You’re gonna make me laugh.
Hey, it’s a kinky job -- but someone’s gotta groove it.
EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS - ROADSIDE - MORNING
A sign reads "Danger. Road Closed.”
The Mercedes SUV enters the frame, pulls over. Parks.
KLAUS SPEER (50), the driver,
a charming, face-lifted Jeremy Irons type --
Eurotrashy-elegant in leather and Gucci shades, gets out of the vehicle.
He pulls CHICK (18) by the hand. Blindfolded and gagged.
Pale flesh goose-pimpled in a bikini and rollerblades.
JOREL AMIN, (35), the big black guy we saw vomit,
totes a DV camera. Massive, a tree trunk. And dark as night.
You trying say no to Miss Nude America.
Enough about the bimbo.
Time to make movie magic.
(through her gag)
M-mmm -- mmm --
Such a lovely day. God, I love my craft.
Ready for a little cinema verite?
EXT. ROAD - CONTINUOUS
The trio stand at the crest of the hill.
The newly paved steep downward incline beckons ominously.
Jorel sets up the camera. Klaus slips on a Bozo mask.
Don't start yet. When I say action.
(takes off the gag, to Chick)
Enough clowning around. It’s show-time.
Klaus, please, I don't want to die!
I won't tell anyone, I swear!
Please don't kill me!
Shut the fuck up.
You're a cheap little piece of trash.
And you know too much.
You shouldn't have fucked her, baby.
That’s a Bozo no-no.
I trust you know how to skate.
holds the camera on a tripod.
Ready to roll, Herr director.
ties her hands. Takes off the blindfold.
Boogie night-night, Roller Girl.
Ready -- speed -- and action!
And SHOVES her down the hill.
Chick SCREAMS an ungodly howl.
EXT. CARRIE'S PATIO - AT THE SAME TIME
The crime scene hums with POLICE, TECHNICIANS.
MEGAN PAUL, (25), cute, curvy and freckled in uniform,
sits astride a blonde stallion like the archetype she is.
Carrie, eye makeup smeared, pets the horse, in a trance.
I totally freaked out when they said it was your address.
(trying not to lose it)
So -- are you okay?
I guess I'm in shock.
I don't feel a fucking thing.
You'd think I'd be a mess.
(trails off, on overload)
She's the love of my life.
Was the love of my life.
Puts her arms around Carrie.
(trying not to cry)
Someone cut off her fucking HEAD.
Come on, let it out.
You'll feel better.
You're such a good friend, Meg.
I love you so much.
(surprised, hugs tight)
Hey, c’mon -- what else are ex's for?
Carrie lifts her head. A glimmer of a smile.
Still the bad girl.
You smell like tequila,
cigarettes and Channel Number Five.
My religion, death and taxes.
C'mon, I'll make us some coffee.
Make it Irish.
And hold the coffee.