Sunday, May 31, 2009

In Flames

Sunday. A day of rest. For some. Not moi. I'm always here, always vigilant, always criminally inclined. So put on your seatbelt. Pour a black cup of java. Light up a smoke. Kick back, and kick-start your heart with another piping-hot episode from WILSHIRE BOULEVARD ...

Screened DIE HARD 3: DIE HARD WITH A VENGENCE last night, and my action-movie jones has been satisfied. For awhile at least. Much better than DIE HARD 2, for sure. Had my man Samuel L. Jackson in it, and Jeremy Irons, the villian du jour, chewing up the scenery like Bruce Willis at the local Hooters. Good times were had by me and Bobby D. The Dog. Good, old-fashioned popcorn blockbuster action.

Onto today's episode of Wilshire Boulevard. Things are about to get NASTY and DARK. Carrie's house catches on fire, and we meet the bastard that did it, her asshole neighbor, Paul Martune. A bit of trivia -- I lost my home and everying I owned in a fire 12 years ago, and although I've been okay for the last 8 years or so, writing this scene finally gave me closure. And, btw, 'Paul Martune' is based on a real person. A real asshole. And yes, he did live next door to me. The thing I love about this device in the story is that it raises the stakes to another level. Not only is Carrie about to get framed for murder ... but she's now lost everything.

A little noir for ya ...


EXT. OZONE AVENUE - NIGHT
Carrie and Jenny walk down the leafy avenue.
Foliage glowing from a dim street lamp.
Weaving a little from cocktail time.

CARRIE
So why do you work there?

JENNY
I’m a writer. It gives me access to producers.
Agents. You know --

CARRIE
So you write TV movies?

JENNY
God, no. I write really dark crime thrillers.
With a lot of blood.

CARRIE
Hey. My kind of girl.

Jenny blushes. Turns away.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Maybe you can tell me.
When I saw Yavo at The Office,
he was with this really creepy-looking skinny guy.
Cajun, I think.

JENNY
That’s Hub Flower.
He owns the biggest production company in New Orleans.
We’ve made a few movies with him.
(wicked grin)
And now the FBI is investigating him --

CARRIE
That must have been what they were arguing about --

A SIREN SCREAMS into the night.
Jenny JUMPS.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
(looks)
That’s coming from right down the street.

They walk toward the noise.
See clouds of BLACK SMOKE.
People start SHOUTING.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Carrie, FIRE! Get out, GET OUT!

CARRIE
What? I’m right --
(realizes)
My HOUSE!

She starts TEARING down the street.
Jenny follows.

EXT. CARRIE’S JOINT - FRONT PATIO - MOMENTS LATER
The house is ENGULFED IN FLAMES.
A crowd of NEIGHBORS stands nearby. Watching.
A LITTLE GIRL starts crying.

CARRIE
Oh my FUCKING GOD!
Somebody DO SOMETHING!
Where is the fucking FIRE DEPARTMENT?

Another SIREN WAILS a few doors down.
HONK-HONKS. SHOUTING.

Oh, shit.
The walkway street.
The fire truck is too big.

Carrie sees the truck.
Starts YELLING.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Come on, over here! Hurry UP, GODDAMN IT!
It’s MY HOUSE, MY HOUSE, MY HOUSE!

A pair of FIREFIGHTERS
race toward her with a long hose.

TALL FIREFIGHTER
Everybody out of the way! STAND BACK.

BLACK FIREFIGHTER
Move it people, make room!

But the house is a goner.
Rich, red FLAMES engulf the roof, the walls.
Searing, shimmering waves of heat.

Carrie GRABS Jenny.
Almost collapses.
Crying, SHRIEKING.

CARRIE
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO -- !

JENNY
(grabs her back)
It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.

A MALE VOICE
behind them snickers.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Anybody got any marshmallows?

Carrie WHIPS her head around.
Sees --

PAUL MARTUNE(28) natty in Billabong.
Not. A bit flabby.
Cruel goatee wrapped around a stogie.
Grey eyes crinkle.

MARTUNE
Hey, Carrie. Guess you got to hell a little early, huh?

CARRIE
You fucking ASSHOLE.

She GRABS Martune.
THROWS him to the ground.
PUNCHING, KICKING, SPITTING.

He tries to fight back,
but years of flabby TV-watching on the couch do him in.

BLACK FIREFIGHTER
Stop it, you’re going to KILL HIM.

CARRIE
That’s the fucking IDEA!

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
As she BEATS his face to a pulp.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Sins of the Father

Happy Saturday, crime fiends. So glad you could make it. It's cold and grey here at the beach. Got a fire going ... in my belly. Have a craving for danger. Darkness. Depravity. Debauchery. How about you? Come on in and get some ...

So I'm on this DIE HARD kick this week. Screened the latest one last week, then revisited the first one the other night ... and last night, I saw DIE HARD 2. Not as great as the first one, but still fun. The villian was no where NEAR the genius of Alan Rickman, but he was appropriately nasty. It was a little too 'winky-jokey' for my tastes some of the time. But that's the price you have to pay for doing your research. Feel like there's a big, nasty action tentpole in my pants ... and it's fighting to get out. My manager says I'm a 'female Gus Van Sant,' working her way up to something completely commercial.

Well, we'll see.

Netflix is delivering DIE HARD 3 today, and I think I might be a bit Bruce Willised-out. Might be time to dig into my noir collection for something a little more ... subtle.

Onto today's joint from Wilshire Boulevard. Christian pornographer/TV movie producer (now THAT'S a combination) Ken Rice is taking a meeting with TV movie mogul Roland Yavo, and he tries to blackmail him into making a deal with pictures of his son in drag ... with disasterous results.

EXT. THE LOBSTER - NIGHT
An outre joint right at the Santa Monica Pier.
Riot of color as the sun sets over lapping waves.

Titles read
‘MEANWHILE, RIGHT DOWN THE STREET.’

INT. THE LOBSTER - CONTINUOUS
The place is packed. Yavo and Rice sit a table for four
in front of a huge window. The view is breathtaking.

The meeting, not.

YAVO
I only agreed to meet with you because
you said the project involved my son.

KEN
And I thank you for seeing me on such short notice.
I know your friend Mickey Sennet.
He said this story would be right up your alley.

YAVO
Mickey Sennet is a used-car salesman.
He just brings us the property,
half the time he’s STOLEN it.
We never let that cocksucker do any real ‘producing.’
(suspicious)
So why didn’t Mickey bring it to me?

KEN
Well, right now he’s on location in Nova Scotia.

YAVO
Working on WHAT?

KEN
A Vanna White biopic for the Family Channel.

YAVO
Who’s playing Vanna?

KEN
That girl from American Idol.
She was first runner-up in season eight.
(SNAPS his fingers)
What’s her name? Great set of pipes --

YAVO
I don’t watch that shit.
(sips his cocktail)
Tell me about your project.
And how my son is involved.

Ken reaches down, takes a envelope from his briefcase.
Pulls out a treatment. Hands it to Yavo with a flourish.

KEN
‘Sins of the Father’ is a working title.
It’s the true story of a teacher
who has a homosexual affair with one of his students,
who turns out to be his long-lost son.
It’s edgy, but touching.
A sure ratings-grabber.

YAVO
(leafing through the text)
This is one of the WORST ideas I’ve ever been PITCHED.
(THROWS it at Ken)
GAY doesn’t play at the NETWORKS.
Not unless they DIE.

A couple at the next table look.

KEN
But --

YAVO
And INCEST?
Between a FATHER AND SON?
What, are you fucking CRAZY?

More people look. Hushed whispers.

KEN
I’m already in talks with Bruce Boxlietner
to play the father.

YAVO
Bruce BOXLIETNER? That washed-up HAS-BEEN?
(over his shoulder)
CHECK, PLEASE.

Ken reaches down.
Pulls out a sheaf of eight-by-ten glossies.
FLIPS them onto the table.

KEN
(low, urgent)
I just shot a tranny porn
with your son Nikki, in DRAG, Roland.
So if you want me to keep it a secret,
you agree to make Sins of the Father.

Yavo THROWS his drink in Ken’s face. Stands.

YAVO
You fucking BLACKMAILING piece of SHIT.
I could GIVE a FUCK if you release a PORNO
with my FAGGOT SON.

A SMOOTH, EURO MAITRE’ D approaches.

SMOOTH, EURO MAITRE’ D
I’m sorry, sir --
but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.
You’re creating quite a scene --

YAVO
A SCENE? You want to see a SCENE?

He GRABS the edge of the table with his fists.
LIFTS it, and TOPPLES IT onto Rice.

China, glasses, silverware go FLYING onto Ken,
who HITS the floor, screaming like a girl.

YAVO (CONT’D)
And YOU can pay the CHECK.


Friday, May 29, 2009

The Cat and the Canary

Welcome back, my friends, to the crime that never ends. We're so glad you could attend. Come inside, come inside. Ask yourself, do you feel lucky? Well, do you? You bet your ass you are. Come with me, and take a little trip to the dark side. You know you want to ...

Screened an all-time classic last night. DIE HARD. The one that started it all. State-of-the-art high-concept action thriller deluxe. After it's success, we got 'DIE HARD on a plane.' 'DIE HARD on a boat.' 'DIE HARD on a bus.' You get the idea? I also believe this the begininng of the Eurotrash villian syndrome. One that lasted a good, long while, until it was beaten to death. I must say it was a shock to see Bruce Willis with hair. And of course the American screen debut of Alan Rickman, who, to this day, is one of my all-time screen villians. Hadn't seen it in years, and it was great fun to see again. I of course took copious notes. I had a lot of fun writing my big-budget spy thriller NOWHERE GIRL (shameless plug -- it's right now over at Ridley and Tony Scott's company), and I just might go for the big-action-movie bucks on my next screenplay.

Speaking of screenplays, you know what time it is. Time for another steamin' hot slab of hardboiled pulp from Wilshire Boulevard.

In the opening teaser, Carrie questions one of dead movie producer Harvey Flender's employees (believe it or not, this dude is based on a real former coworker of mine at the production company I used to work at; he was a complete asshole, so this was particularly satisfying.)

Then, Carrie takes another employee, Jenny, to one of her favorite beach dives for a little ... personal interview. (Another note -- this is based on a real-life haunt of mine, Chez Jay, who's owner, Jay, recently passed away. RIP, Jay. Thanks for all the strong cocktails over the years.)


INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - DUSK
Odd-Looking Sad-Face sits at the end of the conference table
across from Carrie. Gripping Variety for dear life.

Meet FLEMING BOOR (49), Harvey Flender’s assistant.
Paunchy. Bug eyes blinking. Sparse hair trying for a Ceasar.
Approaching the final chapter of a life of quiet desperation.

CARRIE
Tragic death. I’m sorry.
(writes some notes)
How long did you work for him?

FLEMING
Twelve years. We’ve made 79 movies together.
Nine minis. And two series.
(mutters, to himself)
And still no producer credit --

CARRIE
Impressive. His wife told me that he had a lot of enemies.
Do you know anyone who might have wanted to do him harm?

FLEMING
Look in the Hollywood Creative Directory.
Start with the letter ‘A.’

CARRIE
(smiles)
His wife told me that Harvey was rather -- frugal.

FLEMING
You can say THAT again.

CARRIE
So you know about his --

FLEMING
Of COURSE. He was a THIEF, a CROOK.
(raises a finger)
And now I am poised to take his place.

PUSH IN ON Fleming.
Quivering with quiet rage.

INT. YAVO/FLENDER FILMS - CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER
Carrie walks past a closed office door.
A hand-made sign reads LEGAL IS CLOSED.

Jenny appears. Has her coat on. Holds her bag.

JENNY
I’m sorry, but Betty left. She gets here at 7:30.
Leaves at six sharp, has to race home
to her unemployed, drunken husband.

CARRIE
(nods at the closed door)
What about Legal?

JENNY
That’s my boss, Modi. He won’t talk to you.
He doesn’t talk to visitors.

CARRIE
I see. I like a challenge.
I’ll ambush him another time.

JENNY
So where do you want to go?

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
The cat about to get the canary.

CARRIE
How do you feel about shellfish?

EXT. CHEZ RAY’S - NIGHT
The crisp, surf-guitar jangle of The Venturers’
cover of CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ over --

A crusty, old dive.
Across the street from the beach.
Near the Santa Monica pier.
Small martini glass in pink neon.

INT. CHEZ RAY’S - NIGHT
Almost pitch-black, except for the zillions of tiny Christmas lights.
And the juke box. Movie posters signed by patrons.

The joint is packed. Hipsters who know better.
Beaten-down regulars who don’t.
Excited voices fight the music.

And in a dark, corner booth --

Carrie and Jenny.
Each with a giant, shell-shaped bowl of oysters.
Carrie dunks a piece of bread in steaming hot shrimp broth.
Pops it in her mouth. Grabs her beer. Takes a long pull.

JENNY
I love this place.
I’ve passed it a million times
and never knew what it was.
I wasn’t even sure if it was open.

Carrie pours salt on her wrist. Licks it.
DOWNS a shot of tequila.
Bites a lemon wedge. Smiles.

CARRIE
Chez Ray’s is Santa Monica’s best-kept secret.
If someone in the press writes about it in one of trendy rags,
they’re eighty-sixed.

Just then RAY (80’s) the owner, ambles over.
Toothpick thin. Natty in a pink Hawaiian shirt.
Ancient skin ruined by the sun.
But bright, blue eyes still twinkling with mischief.

RAY
(to Carrie)
Who’s the new dame, doll?
Did the Brit take a powder?

CARRIE
(flushes)
Ray. This is Jenny Lane. I’m on a job.

JENNY
Hi.

RAY
(to Jenny, winks)
Better watch out for this one.
She can reel ‘em in.
Don’t even need bait.

He shuffles away. An awkward silence.

CARRIE
So tell me about Yavo/Flender Films.
I want all the dirt. I don’t care how tawdry.

JENNY
Well, they’re all freaks.
We’re underpaid, understaffed, and very successful.
Flender was a cheap, lying bastard,
and he got what was coming to him --
(sips her cocktail)
Yavo is nasty, crude, and suffers from a Napoleon complex --

CARRIE
Did Yavo and Flender get along?

JENNY
They only got along because of
how much money they made.
Yavo used to be one of the biggest producers in town --
he’s made over a hundred TV movies --
but he made other investments over the years,
which make much more money,
so nowadays he lets -- let -- Flender call the shots.
(a bite of food)
All he has to is sit back and watch the dough roll in.
Bastard’s only in the office two days a week.
Rest of the time he’s at his compound down in Laguna.
(sips her drink)
I can’t think of a motive for Yavo doing it.
No upside. Flender was doing all the work.

CARRIE
Can you tell me about his enemies?

JENNY
That could take all night.

CARRIE
Whattaya say we kick it back at my place?
I have a full bar.

PUSH IN ON Jenny.
Her Cheshire cat smile.

JENNY
I thought you’d never ask --


Thursday, May 28, 2009

A Filthy Mind

It's Thursday. Do you know where your children are? Your parents? Your boss? Your spouse?Well, don't look now, but they're right here, on Wilshire Boulevard, getting their daily fix of steaming hot film hardboiled noir ...

Screened a little gem of a flick last night that blew my fucking socks off. NO GOOD DEED, based on a story by Dashiell Hammett. What a nice surprise! Directed by the 70's icon Bob Rafelson, of FIVE EASY PIECES fame. It was obviously low-budget, but that don't matter when you've got a great, nasty little bank heist story like this one. Starring a fab Samuel L. Jackson and the delicious Milla Jovavich, in femme fatale mode. Great supporting cast including Stellan Starsgaard and Grace Ziebrieski. Just terrific. Really inspired me. Gonna buy this one ...

Onto today's two-fer from Wilshire Boulevard, and boy, is the plot thickening.

In Part 1, Yavo's transgendered offspring discovers the true nature of the porno she just shot for Ken Rice, and ...

In Part 2, Carrie arrives at Yavo/Flender Films, and works her charms on a cute little fillly in the front office.

INT. SHITTY MOTEL ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
The shoot is over. Ken packs up his camera equipment.
Rat sits on the couch reading a comic book.

IN THE BATHROOM
Nikki freshens her makeup while Madea watches.
Does her lips. Opens her compact.
Shakes out some fairy dust. SNORTS a line.
Then ANOTHER. Shakes her head, clearing out the cobwebs.

She picks up the dog, goes to the door.
Puts her hand on the knob, and --

IN THE NEXT ROOM
the phone RINGS.

Ken places the shoot videotape on the back of the couch,
near Rat. Picks up his cell.

NIKKI
stays put. Listens.

KEN
answers the call.

KEN
Heavenly Pictures, this is Ken.
(beat)
Well, hello, David.
(beat)
Just shooting some test footage
of a promising new starlet I discovered.
(beat)
You know the drag review at the Cock Ring?
Guess who’s now in the show --
(beat)
Yavo’s son. Yavo’s SON is a TRANNY.
You know Klaus, the bartender?
He told me -- apparently she was bragging
about her old man in the movie biz --
(beat)
Last night. I bought her a drink
after the show and chatted her up.
I didn’t tell her I knew who her father was.
Told her I liked her look,
and would she like to stop by the location for a test shoot.
(beat)
You have a filthy mind.

NIKKI’S
eyes go wide. Shit.
This freak knows my FATHER?

She sees Ken over by the window,
his back to us. Rat on the couch.
Riveted to Action Comix.
Mouth slowly reading the words.

She gets down on her knees.
Crawls over behind the couch.
GRABS the videotape, just as --

KEN
hangs up. Turns.
Looks at Rat. Smiles warmly.

KEN (CONT'D)
That was my agent. Nice guy.
(brilliant idea)
Hey. How about getting a bite to eat?
My treat. We could go to Applebee’s.
(notices the tape is gone)
Hey. Where’s the --
He looks behind the couch. Sees Nikki.

KEN (CONT’D)
Hey, what the heck do you think you’re doing?

Nikki looks up. Wan smile.

NIKKI
I lost a -- an earring.

KEN
No you didn’t, you have my videotape.
Hand it over, NOW.

Nikki stands.
Holds the tape behind her back.
NIKKI
I never would have acted in this
if I knew you knew my FATHER.

KEN
Life’s tough, and so am I.
Hand it over, fella.

NIKKI
(winces)
I’m not a FELLA.
(panics)
If my father found out about this, he’d --

KEN
Rat? I need your help.

Rat sighs. Puts down the comic.
Damn. Right at the good part.
He stands. Turns. Reaches over.
Grabs Nikki by the throat with a big, meaty paw.

The dog starts YIPPING.

RAT
Hand it over. If you like breathing.

Nikki gives Ken the tape.

KEN
See now? That wasn’t so hard.
(to Rat)
Now, would you please escort the lady out?
Her services are no longer required.

Rat GRABS Nikki by the wrist,
pulls her toward the door.
The dog starts GROWLING.

NIKKI
I’ve got money, how much do you want?

KEN
See you at the movies.

Rat opens the door --

NIKKI
Please, if my father sees that --

And SHOVES Nikki out.
SLAMS it shut, BANG.

KEN
Well, that was most unpleasant.

RAT
How daya think I feel?
I had to fuck him.

INT. YAVO/FLENDER FILMS - FRONT OFFICE - AT THAT MOMENT
The harried-looking woman we saw earlier
furiously CLACK-CLACKS on her keyboard.

Meet JENNY LANE (32), stressed-out business affairs worker bee.
Manning the hive.

CAMERA gets closer.
We see she’s actually quite fetching.
The kind that grows on you.
Imagine if she could get some rest.
The phone RINGS.
She PUNCHES a button.

JENNY
(into her headset)
Yavo/Flender Films --
(listens)
And you are -- ?
(listens)
One moment, please.

Jenny STABS another button.
CARRIE
walks into the room.
Rakish in that slightly tipsy way.

Jenny looks. Does a double-take.

JENNY (CONT'D)
(into the phone)
Lief Weinrib on three.
(to Carrie)
Hi.

CARRIE
Carrie Love, PI.
Mrs. Flender hired me.
(beat)
Nice to see you again.

She hands Jenny her business card.

JENNY
Oh. Wow.

CARRIE
I’d like to snoop around a bit, ask a few questions.

JENNY
(reads the card)
Fast, cheap and out of control?

CARRIE
Marketing gimmick. Criminals love it.

JENNY
I’m sorry, but Roland’s not here right now.

CARRIE
I know. I just bumped into him in a bar
down the street waving a gun.
Had to disarm him --

JENNY
Roland? Down the street? With a, a g-gun?

CARRIE (V.O.)
We met once before when I crashed their Christmas party.
We had a couple dozen shots, hit it off,
and did some heavy petting by the copier.
The rest of the night is kind of a blur.
But nice.

Jenny worried look melts. She smiles shyly.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I could tell she’d never been with another woman.
And that she wanted to.
Call it a sixth sense. Intuition.
Gaydar, if you will --
(beat)
She looked like she’d been beaten down by the job.
Life. But there was still a spark.
(beat)
Flickering right at me.

Carrie leans on the desk.
Puts her hand on her hip.
Raising her jacket.
Revealing her Glock in a shoulder holster.

JENNY
(eyes wide, sees the gun)
Who do you want to -- talk to first?

CARRIE (V.O.)
Showing the rod does it every time.

AN INSTANT MESSAGE
on her computer monitor starts FLASHING --

WHO IS THAT?!

JENNY’S
fingers FLY across the keyboard.

THE MESSAGE BOX
reads I’M ON A CONFERENCE CALL!

A nearby door SLAMS SHUT with a BANG.

JENNY
I could go first.

Carrie’s eyes work their strange magic.
Jenny fidgets.

CARRIE
I think you and I should go talk somewhere else.
Away from here. I have a feeling you’re the only one
that’ll give me the straight scoop.

JENNY
Okay --

PUSH IN ON Jenny.
Faking nonchalance. Badly.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Complete bullshit, of course.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Naughty Girl Scout

Happy Wednesday, work-week humpsters. Welcome to the dark side. It's time for another installment of those hardboiled, pulp shenanigans on Wilshire Boulevard. So choose your favorite piece, load up on ammo, and get your murderous butts in here ...

Screened an oddity last night -- W, from the demented mind of Oliver Stone. Fascinating, but a train wreck. Josh Brolin was amazing as W, and most of the supporting cast was ... interesting. Jeffrey Wright, great as Colin Powell. Richard Dreyfus, awesome as Cheney, as was James Cromwell as George Senior. Toby Jones was a hoot as Rove, but Thandie Newton as Condi was ... weird. She looked perfect, but the accent was ... weird. Script was all over the place, some moments were fascinating, some ridiculous. It wasn't exactly cohesive storytelling, more like a tone poem. I still don't know what to think about it. Hmmm.

But at least that 8-year nightmare is over.

Onto today's joint from Wilshire Bouleard. A two-parter. And this one's a real corker.
Part 1: Gay Flender, wife of murdered producer Harvey, has a most ... unusual sexual encounter.
Part 2: Assassin/filmmaker Phillie Pfugg and his mate Chinette make a 'fake' snuff film ... with the most horrific results.

Let the games begin ...


EXT. FLENDER ESTATE - FRONT LAWN - DAY
Sprinklers WHOOSH water across the immaculate grounds.

INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Gay looks at her watch. Anxious. Goes to the fridge.
Gets a bottle of wine. Pours a glass. Takes a sip.
Rummages through her purse on the counter.
Pulls out a vial. Shakes out a pill. GULPS it down.
More wine.

Suddenly the glass in the outside patio door SHATTERS.
A GLOVED HAND reaches in.
YANKS the door open.

A FIGURE IN BLACK
wearing a stocking mask enters.

Gay SHRIEKS.
The intruder pulls out a GUN.

HOODED FIGURE
(muffled)
Shut the fuck up, and you won’t get hurt.
Hooded walks up to her.
Leans in. Takes a whiff.

HOODED FIGURE (CONT’D)
You smell nice.
(strokes her hair)
Feel nice.
(her cheek)
Soft. Real soft.

GAY
Please, I’ll -- do anything you want.

HOODED FIGURE
You got that right.

He GRABS her wrist.
YANKS her toward the living room.

ON THE STAIRWAY
Hooded PUSHES her forward, up the steps.
She TRIPS. Falls.
He PICKS HER UP.
Carries her into --

THE BEDROOM
where he THROWS her on the king-size.

GAY
Please, don’t -- please don’t, kill me.

HOODED FIGURE
(SLAPS her face)
Shut up.

He SLAPS duct tape on her mouth.
Pulls out a large, gleaming hooked KNIFE.
RIPS a button off her blouse.
TEARS it open.
Goes to her skirt.
YANKS it off.

Gay trembles. Scared shitless.
He SNIPS off her bra.
Then her panties.

Hooded turns her on her stomach.
Drops his pants.
Enters her from behind.
Sharp, animal THRUSTS.

Gay CRIES OUT.
He grunts. Groans. She moans.
Getting turned on. Inflamed.

Hooded COMES violently.
Gay SHRIEKS with passion.

They stop. Muscles clenched.
Then let go. He rolls off her. Reaches over.
YANKS off the tape. Pulls off his stocking.

We see it’s MODI.
He turns to Gay. Beaming.

MODI
That was unbelievable.
We gotta do this again.

Gay smiles. Fires up a smoke.
Exhales a French curl.

GAY
How about -- naughty Girl Scout selling cookies?

PUSH IN ON Modi.
His crude, arrogant leer.

MODI
I’ll take two boxes of the thin mints.

INT. PFUGG RESIDENCE - BASEMENT - AT THAT MOMENT
A gorgeous, faded B-MOVIE QUEEN sits tied to a chair.
A scrap of plywood strapped across her chest.
Mouth tightly gagged.
She struggles against her restraints.
KICKS the floor.

We recognize her as the star of DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY.
Phillie frames the scene through a digital video camera.

CHINETTE
(whispers)
This is gonna look so real.
(looks at B-Movie)
I mean, check it out. That’s Heather Dick.
From ‘La Cienega Place.’ One of my shows.
And she thinks she’s gonna die.

PHILLIE
(to Heather)
See what happens when you start chasing
the YouTube demographic?
(to Chinette)
Okay. Time to suspend your disbelief.
Places, please.

Chinette finds her mark. Facing Miss Dick.

PHILLIE (O.S.) (CONT'D)
And -- action.

CAMERA POV
The muscle-woman slowly removes her hoodie --
Revealing an hourglass shape in a merry widow.
And a black leather shoulder holster.
She reaches behind, slides out a PISTOL --
and takes aim.

B-Movie JERKS against the ropes,
muffled gagging screams.
BANG. BANG. BANG.

CLOSE ON --
Heather Dick.
Slumped over in the chair.
Bullet holes in the wood.
Blood seeping down her body.

CHINETTE (O.S.)
Oh my GOD, holy SHIT, I’ve SHOT her!
(turns)
You said we were using BLANKS.

PHILLIE
stares in disbelief.
Then, the barest hint of smile.

PHILLIE
We were -- at least, I thought we were.
(beat)
Well, at least know it looks -- realistic.

CHINETTE
Realistic? Realistic? REALISTIC?
I just fucking KILLED someone!

PUSH IN ON Phillie.
Cluck-clucking.

PHILLIE
Darling.
Haven’t you heard the phrase
sacrificing for your art?

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Hair of the Dog

Good morning, weekend warriors. I hope you all had fun on the party battlefield. I just bet you're needing a good hangover cure right about now. Well, come on in and take a trip to Wilshire Boulevard, where we're serving the hair of the hardboiled dog ... dark, and on tap ...

What a weekend. Had my usual nice, quiet productive time at the beach balancing work and play -- but I ended up yesterday partying with a couple of crazy dames that wouldn't quit -- so I had to. Getting too old for yelling, screaming and dancing around -- at 3PM. Sheesh. It's called a life -- and I've got one.

Screened a doozy last night. Since my Netflix queue got a bit backed up, I dipped into my film noir collection, and re-watched OUT OF THE PAST with Robert Mitchum, Kirk Douglas and Jane Greer. Great stuff. They just don't mak 'em like his one anymore, kids. A marvoulous, gritty, twisty noir full of double-crosses, desperate romance, and fall guys. Bleak souls in shadowy rooms. 'Build my gallows high, baby,' indeed.

Onto today's scene from Wilshire Boulevard. And it's a corker. Carrie Love has time to kill, so she stops in a local dive bar for a liquid lunch, and runs into Roland Yavo, the dead movie producer's partner, who is plotting something of his 0wn ...


EXT. WILSHIRE BOULEVARD - BANK - DAY
Carrie wheels her monster Olds down Wilshire going East.
Henry Mancini’s THE BIG BLOWOUT rocks the sub-woofers.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I had time to kill. But I was on that stretch of Wilshire
just west of Bundy, a real no-man’s land.
The cheap seats, where the streets have no name.
I had an itch that needed scratching,
but I was lost in a canyon of fast food joints,
shitty storefronts and low-end office towers.
But no bars.
(beat)
WAIT a minute.

She suddenly WHEELS the car in a U-turn.
Heads back west.

EXT. BAR - DAY
Carrie pulls up to a small, old-school dive.
Sign reads:THE OFFICE. OPEN 6 AM.
GET YOUR DAY STARTED RIGHT.

INT. THE OFFICE - DAY
Tequila-soaked Tex-Mex on the juke.
The Iguana’s OYE ISABEL.

Very dark. A bit dank. And dead.
Two OLD REGULARS sit at end of the long bar
glued to some Mexican soap opera on the TV.

Carrie takes a stool at the other end, near the door.
Beside a big, red leather booth.

A large PONYTAILED BIKER-LOOKING BARTENDER
ambles over.

CARRIE
Draft and a double shot of Kessler’s.

PONYTAILED BIKER BARTENDER
Comin’ right up.
(goes to get it)
I remember you. You’re the one that talks like Bogart.
You sang that song about fucking on karaoke night.
He slides over a cold one and a large shot glass.
She DOWNS it. Take a long pull from the bottle.

CARRIE
‘I Might Like You Better If We Slept Together.’
(beat)
Axel, right?

AXEL
Uh-huh. And I’ve got a girlfriend.

CARRIE
Those are the lyrics from the song.
‘Never Say Never.’ Romeo Void. 1982.

AXEL
I knew that.

The front door OPENS.
In walks Roland Yavo, and --
A SKINNY CREOLE MAN (40’s),
stick-thin, dapper in that decayed
New Orleans underworld kinda way.
Pencil moustache frames a smug whisper of a smile.

Meet HUB FLOWER.
They take seats in the booth right behind Carrie.
Yavo squints in the darkness. Checks out the joint.
Axel shuffles over to the table.

AXEL (CONT'D)
What’ll it be, gents?

Hub raises his hand. A pinky ring glistens.

HUB
Mint Julep, my good man.

AXEL
Sorry. How about a Long Island Ice Tea?

Hub nods. Smiles.

YAVO
You got single-malt scotch?

AXEL
We got Johnny Walker. Red.

YAVO
(grumbles)
That’ll do.

Axel leaves. Yavo glowers.
Carrie strains to listen.

YAVO (CONT'D)
(harsh whisper)
It’s one thing to add a million, two maybe --
but you’ve got the budget at eighteen.
On a four-million dollar picture.

HUB
My boys are running for reelection.
And I have to make sure the tax incentive --

Axel returns with their drinks.
Hub pulls out a big bankroll.

HUB (CONT'D)
I’ve got it.
(hands Axel a twenty)
Keep the change.

YAVO
Listen, Flower -- the FBI has been up my ass so far
we’ve been picking out CHINA PATTERNS.
And since that stupid fuck Flender got himself killed,
the place has been crawling with cops --

HUB
Relax, Roland. It’s just a grand jury.
No charges have been pressed.
We just need you to testify --

YAVO
(drains his drink)
TESTIFY? Like HELL.
You’re destroying my REPUTATION.
I’ve produced over A HUNDRED movies.
I'm a GOD in this town!

HUB
I know, Roland. You and Harvey, over a hundred credits --
(strange, big smile)
Such a shame about Harvey --

ROLAND
Don’t you DARE fucking THREATEN me!

He FLINGS the glass across the room -- CRASH.

AXEL (O.C.)
Hey! What THE FUCK do you think YOU’RE DOING?!

Axel appears. Livid. Beet-red.

YAVO
Keep your shirt on. I’ll pay for it.
We’re discussing something private.
Get the fuck out of my face.

AXEL
WHAT did you say?

YAVO
I said, GET -- THE FUCK -- OUT -- of MY FACE!

AXEL
No, YOU get out -- NOW.

YAVO
You gonna try and make me?
He stands.
All five-foot-four inches.

AXEL
Oh. So you’re a tough guy.

Yavo pulls out a long-barrelled COLT-45 REVOLVER.

YAVO
Do you know who I AM?
Fucking trailer park piece of SHIT?

The barrel of a large, gleaming GLOCK
rests against Yavo’s temple.
The safety CLICKS.

CARRIE
comes into frame.
Holding the weapon with both hands.

CARRIE
Dust it, Yavo. Drop the heater.

YAVO
(drops his gun)
Fucking cunt. What are YOU doing here?

CARRIE
(picks it up, empties the bullets, hands it back)
One of life’s little mysteries, short-stuff.
Call it karma. Kismet. Candid Camera.
I really don’t give a fuck.
(to Axel)
He’s all yours, sport.

Axel GRABS Yavo by the arms.
Drags him toward the door --

YAVO
Get your fucking hands OFF ME.
And THROWS him into the street.
Flower does a take. Bows slightly,
and high-tails it out of there.

AXEL
Nice piece. You a cop or something?

CARRIE
Something like that.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Death Takes A Holiday

Let us commenorate our brave brothers and sisters who died in battle protecting our country ... by curling up with another slice of noir heaven from the underbelly of Hollywood ... on Wilshire Bouelvard.

Screened an oldie but goodie last night, HIS KIND OF WOMAN, with Robert Mitchum and Jane Russell, who were great as usual -- but for me the big surprise was Vincent Price, playing against type as a famous actor on vacation in Mexico. Weird RKO mix of noir and screwball comedy. A lot of Howard Hughes' productions were weird, and this one is strange, indeed. But still a lot fun. Check it out if you haven't.

Time to take a spine-tingling trip down Wilshire Boulevard. In today's installment, private eye Carrie Love arrives at the murdered producer's production company, and is confronted with a bizarre group of characters swimming in the underbelly of Hollywood ...
WILSHIRE BOULEVARD - BANK - AFTERNOON
The big-band swoon of The Brian Setzer Orchestra’s
bourbon-drenched TOWN WITHOUT PITY
blares its seedy swing over --

A FAT, HOMELESS WOMAN in a wheelchair
festooned with a flag, pinwheel whirling in the breeze.
Giant lobster-red legs scuttling crab-like movements down the sidewalk past --

A 70’s-era red brick bank in the no-man’s land just west of Bundy.
The SIGN reads ‘FI_ST NATIONAL PHILIPPINES B_NK.’

CAMERA
glides up the path to the front entrance.
Doors OPEN.

PIGGY SECURITY GUARD sits at the desk, a human hog.
Shakes his jowls. Let’s loose a HORRIFYING SNEEZE.

PIGGY SECURITY GUARD
A-CHOOOOOOOO!

He HAWKS UP a big glob of phlegm.
SPITS behind the desk.
It hits the bottom of the wastebasket with a PING.

CAMERA moves left, revealing a GLASS DOOR.

YAVO/FLENDER FILMS, LTD
stenciled in plain black lettering.
The door OPENS.
CAMERA glides in.

THE LOBBY
isn’t much to look at. More like the front room.
Cheesy TV-movie posters abound.
We ZOOM IN on one.

A FADED TV-ACTRESS in a Santa hat brandishes a gun.
DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY.

CAMERA glides by --
In the corner, desk against the plate glass,
a HARRIED WOMAN, (30’s).
Winsome, dark-haired. Sleepy-eyed.
Cute in denim mini and red Ramones T-shirt.
She murmurs into her headset.

HARRIED WOMAN
Stretch limo, smoking, with DVD player,
first priority hair and makeup?

CAMERA
continues its journey, glides past --

AN OPEN DOORWAY
where we see a red-faced INTENSE GUY (30’s).
Persian good looks. Shaved head.
Bloodshot eyes burning with self-important, bipolar rage.

Meet MODI FARAHT, head of legal.
He POUNDS on his keyboard.
BARKS into the phone.

MODI
ONE MILLION? Go fuck yourself!
We paid Marsha Day Wallace three-hundred-fifty,
and she’s an OSCAR WINNER.

CAMERA CONTINUES down a narrow hallway.
On the walls, FRAMED ONE-SHEETS
of Yavo/Flender’s TV movie masterpieces --

MURDER ON THE BELTWAY: FOR THE LOVE OF A SNIPER
BILLY! THE BILLY JOHN STORY
GUYS AND DOLLS: THE NEXT CHAPTER

CAMERA reaches the end, turns right, where we see --

A HORRIBLE, PIG-FACED WOMAN
sitting at a large work area. Papers everywhere.
Furiously CLACK-CLACKING on her keyboard.
A dead ringer for Anne Ramsey
from THROW MOMMA FROM THE TRAIN.

She speaks into her headset.

HORRIBLE PIG-FACED WOMAN
There’s more beer in the garage, Larry.
But I thought you were working today --

CAMERA MOVES
past her, to another workstation.
Behind a computer sits
an ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACED MAN
reading Variety.

ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACE
I brought that margarine in the squeeze-top bottle
I was telling you about.

HORRIBLE PIG-FACED WOMAN (O.C.)
That’s convenient --

A tiny, wild-eyed cigar-smoking FURIOUS MAN (60’s)
appears in his office doorway.

Meet ROLAND YAVO, the senior partner,
a bundle of manic energy. Bluster. Bravado.
And right now, last producer standing.

YAVO
BETTY! Where THE FUCK is my conference call?

Pig-Face turns her head. Looks.

BETTY
It got cancelled on account of --
(beat)
What happened.

YAVO
WHAT? I’ve GOT to close this FUCKING DEAL.
We’ve had cops and media all over the place,
and nothing’s getting DONE.

BETTY
I’ll see if I can get Izzy on the line.

YAVO
You do that.

He storms back into his office.
The phone RINGS.
Odd-Looking answers it.

ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACE
Yavo/Flender Films. This is Fleming.

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:

EXT. WILSHIRE BLVD. - CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie drives, talks on her cell. Wind WHIPPING her hair.

CARRIE
Hi. My name is Carrie Love,
I’m a private eye.
Gay Flender hired me.

Fleming looks at Betty.
Mouths ‘it’s a private detective.’

FLEMING
Uh-huh --

CARRIE
I’d like to swing by and talk to you.
All of you, actually.

FLEMING
Well, we’ve had a lot of visitors today.
Right now isn’t such a good time.

CARRIE
What if I gave you a hundred clams?

FLEMING
Really?

CARRIE
Really.

FLEMING
(low)
Come around six-o’clock.

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Brain Chunks For Breakfast

Well, it sure looks like summer has started here at the beach. The joint's been crawling with fat tourists from all over this smoggy burg. Weekend warriors, desperate to escape their empty little lives. Me? I'm holed up here in my lair, getting ready to serve you your daily fix of hardboiled pulp ...

Screened a cool little movie I hadn't heard of before -- RULES OF ENGAGEMENT, with Samuel L. Jackson and Tommy Lee Jones. Well, okay -- it wasn't so little. And I'm not normally a fan of war movies, but this one was a corker. More of a legal thriller, really. Sam goes on trial for shooting what were supposedly innocent protesters outside the US embassy in Yemen during his rescue of the ambassador (the always great Bruce Greenwood) ... and has to defend his actions. Potent, powerful stuff. I'm no flag-waving hawk, but this was a nice example of true patriotism. Perfect timing for Memorial Day. Salute.

Onto today's joint from Wilshire Boulvard. The plot thickens when Carrie is confronted with he former neighbor Kip Slobotnick's dead body ... and she loses her lunch.

***

INT. ASSHOLE’S JOINT - MOMENTS LATER
Bernie stands in front of an old, worn sofa bed.
Opened up, revealing a very dead KIP SLOBOTNIK.
Half his head, gone.

We hear RETCHING in the next room.

BERNIE
(to someone off-camera)
Are you okay in there?

Carrie comes out.
Wiping her face with a hand towel.

CARRIE
Too early in the day for brain chunks.

BERNIE
Or are you still with the Bushmill’s for breakfast?

CARRIE
Dangle, bub. Put a sock in it.
(nods at the couch)
Think it was the bloody toupee.
The blast knocked it clear across the room.
Disgusting.

BERNIE
So that’s definitely him.

CARRIE
Yeah. I’d know that rug anywhere.

BERNIE
So what about his roommate? Where is he?

CARRIE
Martune travels alot on business,
he’s a cigar rep, always smoking those stinky fucks.

BERNIE
Well, I’m gonna have one of my boys
take this place out until he comes home.
I’ve got bigger fish to fuck.
(boasting)
You see on the news about that movie producer
who was shot in the face
and left on the Hollywood Walk of Fame?

CARRIE
No. But his wife just hired me.

BERNIE
What the fuck? That’s MY case.

Carrie goes to the front door.
Opens it. Turns.

CARRIE
Looks like we’re working together again, bucko.
See you on the set.

EXT. CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - DAY
On the car stereo,
The Divinyl’s BULLET spits shards
of broken glass over Carrie.
Hot in leather.
Cool in shades.

The car cruises the Main Street strip in Santa Monica.

CARRIE (V.O.)
My father taught me how to be tough.
How to make it on your own in the world.
He taught me that life sucks,
and that sometimes you have to shake off the shit
that gets shoved in your face and move on.
(beat)
Like the day my mother packed her bags and left.
He said it was just us now, us against the world.
(beat)
Until that morning he blew his brains out
with his service revolver.

Carrie stops at a light. Lights up a smoke.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
That’s what Slobotnik looked like.
Like half my father’s head sprayed across his barcalounger.

The light changes. Carrie HITS the gas.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Enough warm, fuzzy childhood memories.
I’ve got to get ready for my close-up.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

Welcome to the holidaze weekend, party-hearty-ers. Hope you're out having fun in the sun ... while I toil away here in my dark, den of depravity, making sure you have a fresh helping of hardboiled pulp/noir every day. So crack open a cold one, put your feet up, and take thrill ride with me, straight to hell ...

Screened a lovely, dark little number last night -- Nic Cage, in 8MM. Holy shit. What a DARK film. All about some rich dude who hires a porn director to shoot a snuff film. Nic takes a dark on the dark side in the sleazy underbelly of Hollywood, assisted by sex shoppe worker Joaquen Pheonex ... wonderfully perverted in vinyl. DARK SHIT, but good. Not for the faint of heart.

Gotta special treat for you. We'll get back to Wilshire Boulevard tomorrow ... but today, a fresh, new scene from Little Girl Blue. Now -- those of you who have followed the story so far have already met our young wannabe stripper, fresh of the boat from the Midwest, new to LA. Her name was Aerin ... but now it's Blue. Deal with it. That's part of the fun of being a writer. You can play God.

And on the seventh day, Blue hired the services of private eye Carrie Love ...

***

INT. FANTASY ISLAND STRIP CLUB - NIGHT
Blue sits at far end of the bar with Carrie.
They sip bottles of beer.

BLUE
I’m so embarrassed.

CARRIE
Don’t be. You were great.
(beat)
Minor detail.

BLUE
But I fucking FELL.

CARRIE
Adds to your charm.
They’re gonna offer you a job.
Just you wait.

Pause.

BLUE
So -- you’re a private detective.

CARRIE
I am. But keep it under your hat.
I come here to do a Garbo.
(pulls out her card)
Here. Just in case --

BLUE
(takes it, reads)
‘Fast, Cheap & Out of Control?’

CARRIE
Marketing gimmick.
(takes a swig)
And it gives Joe Average a hard-on.

BLUE
How much do you charge?

CARRIE
Too much.
(beat)
Are you in some kind of trouble?

BLUE
It’s -- about my sister.

CARRIE
Is she in trouble?

Pause.

BLUE
She -- died.

CARRIE
I’m sorry.
(beat)
What happened?

Blue looks around.
Makes sure no one is listening.

BLUE
They said she committed suicide.
But that’s not true.
She’d never do that. Never.
Jonna would NEVER do that.
No way.
(looks again)
She was a dancer here.
Jonna was trying to make it as an actress,
said this was just temporary,
that the money was great,
the people were nice,
and that she was making some great contacts.
(sips her beer)
She wrote me once a week.
Then the letters stopped.
My parents were contacted by the police,
they said she’d killed herself.
(angry)
But she DIDN’T. I KNOW she didn’t.
(hisses)
Someone KILLED her.

Pause.

CARRIE
I’ll do it.

BLUE
But you said you were too expen --

CARRIE
I am. But I made a bundle on my last case.
Time for me to pay it forward.
You know, karma.
(smiles)
Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap.

Friday, May 22, 2009

Crime Scene Bitches

Happy Friday, crime scene bitches. How the fork are ya? You made your big, holiday weekend plans yet? Well, before you get the party started, I've got a shindig for you right here. So put on your getaway shoes, and get the heck in here. The crime is hot, the cocktails strong, and the chicks are cool ...

Screened another nice one last night. MIMIC, featuring the always delectable Mira Sorvino. Totally forgot that it was directed by my man Guillermo Del Toro. Boy, does he have a way with creepy crawlies. Also featured Charles Dutton ... and F. Murray Abraham? F. Murray did look like he was having fun 'slumming it' in the slime, though. Chewed the scenery, but not Mira. C'est la vie. Always thought Mira would be great as Carrie Love ...

Onto today's joint from Wilshire Boulevard ...

In part 1, Ken Rice shoots a porno with Rat Kodick, the monster he picke up at Scandals, along with a rather 'unusual' young starlet.

In part 2, Carrie gets grilled by her former partner -- and husband -- Bernie Keko, at the scene of the crime.

***

INT. SHITTY MOTEL ROOM - DAY
One of those cheap flea-bag by-the-hour joints
on Sunset deep in the scuzzy bowels of Hollywood.
Weird, old disco plays on a large, ancient boombox.
IT’S GOT TO BE LOVE, indeed.

A small fan pushes gusts of air over --

A tall, BEAUTIFUL GIRL (19) poses for us.
Azure eyes. Legs for days. And weeks.
She moves with the music.
Coltish, a bit awkward.
Which makes it sexier.

Behind the camcorder,
Ken Rice adjusts the lens.

KEN
Lovely. Just lovely.
You have the face of an angel, Nikki.
(dramatic)
Okay -- PLACES, PLEASE.
And -- ACTION.

A door opens. In walks the MONSTER we saw at Scandals.
Meet RAT KODICK, West Hollywood’s answer to Ratso Rizzo.
Without the charm. A hulking, sweaty mass of useless flesh.

RAT
(to the girl)
Hey, baby. What’s cookin’?

NIKKI
(gives him the once-over)
Apparently, you are.

He walks over to her.
Places his hands on her ass.

RAT
I’d love to put something in your oven.

NIKKI
Mmmm. That’s funny, cause I’m awfully hungry --

A cell phone RINGS.
Nikki races over to a knapsack on the kitchenette counter.
Pulls out a cell phone. Listens.

NIKKI (CONT’D)
Hello?
(beat)
Oh, hi --

KEN
Stop! Cut! What are you DOING?

NIKKI
(male voice)
It’s my father. Hold on to your wig.

‘Nikki’ listens. Lights up a smoke.

NIKKI (CONT'D)
I can’t talk, I’m in class right now.
(beat)
Music? I’m in music class --
(beat)
My grades? But I’ve got the rest of the year to --
(beat)
Dinner? Well, I dunno --
I have this exam I have to cram for --
(beat)
Alright, okay. See you then.

Nikki angrily CLICKS the phone shut.
STOMPS her foot.

NIKKI (CONT’D)
Stupid old FUCK.

She pulls out a coke snifter.
HONKS a bump. Then another.

KEN
Everything okay?

NIKKI
(smiles sweetly)
Never better.

Nikki picks up her cat MADEA,
a tiny teacup Chihuahua.

NIKKI (CONT'D)
(strokes it)
How’s my little precious?
You love your mommy, don’t you?
You’ll protect me from the big, bad Daddy, won’t you?

INT. CARRIE’S JOINT - LIVING ROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
The swinging, sultry bossa nova of Astrid Gilberto’s
So Nice (Summer Samba) on the mega-stereo over --

Carrie and Landon, spiffed up in tight jeans and wife-beaters.
They’re splayed out on the large, sectional couch
sipping Coronas with lime wedges.
Carrie sports a bag of ice.

CARRIE
So tell me again why we broke up?

LANDON
Uh, I met my boyfriend Zack?

CARRIE
Oh, yeah -- that’s it.

A loud KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK at the door.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Cue the fuzz.

In walks Bernie. Shaking his head.
He checks out the girls.

BERNIE
Ladies.
(nods at the beer)
Got another one of those?

CARRIE
You’re on duty.

Pause.

BERNIE
Okay, we’ve got one dead hippie next door.
Clumsily hidden in a sofa bed.

CARRIE
That would be Kip Slobotnik.

BERNIE
Kip got capped three times in the face.
At EXTREMELY close range.
Actually, there’s not much of a face left.

CARRIE
Serves the greasy fucker right.

BERNIE
Excuse me?

CARRIE
He made my life a living nightmare.
Up all night blasting bad music,
getting in my face, hitting on my chicks --

BERNIE
Looks like somebody might have a motive --

CARRIE
Can it, Bernie. You think I killed Mr. Natural,
then knocked myself out in the alley
where I could be found?

Pause.

BERNIE
Can you come and identify the body?

CARRIE
With pleasure.

LANDON
(gets up)
Okay. That’s my cue. Gotta date with Zack.
See ya later.

CARRIE
And just where are you two lovebirds going?

LANDON
We’re gonna go see the new Vin Diesel flick,
then go to ‘Hot Dog On A Stick.’

Bernie’s eyes light up.

CARRIE
ZIP IT, buster. Not a word.

BERNIE
But I was just gonna --

CARRIE
No.

BERNIE
Ask her if they had --

CARRIE
BERNIE.

BERNIE
Bearded clams on a bun.

Carrie shakes her head in disgust.

BERNIE (CONT’D)
See? It wasn’t a dick joke.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Working the Pole

Another surprise for you ... hot off the press ... part 2 of LITTLE GIRL BLUE. Ever had a fantasy of 'working the pole?' Well, fantasize no more, 'cause the lovely Aerin Mist is gonna work her magic for you, gentlemen ... and ladies. Two-drink cover. Plenty of dollar bills available at the bar ...

***

INT. FANTASY ISLAND STRIP CLUB - NIGHT
STANDING IN A DARK CORNER
Is JOEY CHILL (27), dark-haired,
smouldering good looks.
The manager, and the owner’s son.
Cock of the walk.

JOEY
(watching the stage)
Fresh off the boat.
(chuckles)
Catch of the day.

MUSIC EXPLODES.
The whip-cream, pussycat chainsaw-snarl
of Groove Coverage’s 21ST CENTURY DIGITAL GIRL.

ONSTAGE
Aerin GRABS the pole.
Wraps a long, lean thigh around it.
Moves to the music.
She’s pretty good.
Looks awesome.

And scared to death.

She closes her eyes.
The alcohol starts doing its trick.
She relaxes. Starts getting into it.
Starts singing along.

AERIN
I got breast implants,
paid for by my boyfriends --
I got a Botox injection under my skin --
I only play with sex,
but I don't let them in --

And suddenly Aerin’s ON FIRE.
She WORKS it.
Undulates to the edge of the stage.
Dollar bills go FLYING.

A PIG-FACED SALESMAN
Licks his lips.
Eyes big as saucers.

PIG-FACED SALESMAN
Yeah, honey -- GIVE IT UP.

AERIN
Twirls around.
Unhooks her halter top.
It FLIES off.
She grabs her breasts in her hands.
Starts flicking the nipples.

CARRIE
Watches from the bar.

CARRIE
She’s a natural.

AERIN
Goes to the pole.

LEAPS UP, GRABS it with her thighs.
Rides it like a horse.
KICKS a leg out --

AERIN
I’m a 21st Century Digital Girl --

And she SLIPS, FALLS,
and HITS the floor with a CRACK.
She lies motionless.

Then JUMPS UP and RUNS off the stage.

AT THE BAR
The bartender leans over to Carrie.
Shakes his head.

BARTENDER
Another one bites the dust.

CARRIE
You’re just jealous cause you can’t have her.

BARTENDER
And you can?

CARRIE
(looks down the bar)
Don’t look now, but Dr. Phil down there
needs another Harvey Wallbanger.

Card-Carrying Carpet Muncher

Happy Thursday, crime whores. Are you ready for the real deal? Readt to take a trip to the dark side? A place where sins of the flesh are punished with pleasure? Then shut off your cell phone, turn down your I-pod, and bury your BlackBerry -- and come on in for a fresh, dark slab of pure pulp pleasure ...

Screened a GREAT flick last night, ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13, a remake of the old Roger Corman potboiler. Why didn't anyone see this? It was TERRIFIC. Amazing cast -- Brian Dennehy, Ethan Hawke, Lawrence Fishburn, Gabriel Bryne, Maria Bello -- and a delicious Drea de Mateo. Incredibly exciting story about a bunch of rogue cops attacking own of their own precinct -- they're trying to kill Fishburne, as he knows all their dirt. Problem is, they also have to kill the other prisoners -- and the other cops. Just goes to show what happens when you have no expectations. Simply awesome. Two guns u.

Onto another rip-roaring installment from Wilshire Boulevard. Gunshots are fired next door to private eye Carrie Love's house ... and she goes next door to investigate.

Let's rock n' roll ...

***

EXT. CARRIE’S JOINT - BATHROOM - DAY
The spazzy, liquid surf guitar and sax of
the Brian Setzer Orchestra’s HOLLYWOOD NOCTURNE wails over --

Carrie in a short, silk robe. Hair up in a towel.
Fresh-scrubbed. Wholesome.
If you squint your eyes.
She pads into --

THE KITCHEN
and goes to the fridge. Grabs an energy drink.
CRACKS it open. Takes a sip.
Looks out the window over the sink at --

THE HOUSE ACROSS THE ALLEY
an old, white-clapboard bungalow, like hers.
But this one is in serious disrepair.

Gunshots suddenly POP! POP! POP!

CARRIE
Sounds like the natives are restless.

She goes to the counter.
Reaches into a wicker basket.
Pulls out -- nothing.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
My Magnum --
(beat)
Shit.

She opens a cupboard. Pulls out a GLOCK.
Goes to the back door. Opens it.
Steps out into the alley. Listens.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Two people lived next door to me.
Paul Martune and Kip Slobotnik.
Both assholes. Maybe this was my lucky day.
Maybe they were dead.

Carrie creeps up to the back door.
Puts her ear to the door.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
All was quiet. Too quiet.
I could hear my heartbeat thump-thumping in my chest.

FOOTSTEPS.
Carrie turns --

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
I felt a CRACK on my head.
(she falls, hits the ground)
And I fell down, deep down into a black hole,
swimming, under water,
the current pulling me down, down, down --
(beat)
Until I was gone.

EXT. CARRIE’S JOINT - REAR ALLEY - DUSK
Carrie lies on the flagstones. Towel askew.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Carrie? Are you okay?!

A YOUNG WOMAN (20’s) approaches,
all legs, boobs and hair.

Meet LANDON HALL, B-movie queen,
Carrie’s neighbor, former flame,
and complete knockout in a bikini and Rollerblades.
She shuffles over to Carrie’s body.

LANDON
Carrie!

She tries to reach down.
But the wheels SLIP on the smooth stone,
and she FLIPS up, and lands on her ass with a CRACK.

LANDON (CONT’D)
OW.
(beat)
Shit --

Carrie stirs. Opens her eyes. Looks at Landon.

CARRIE
Hey, doll-face.

LANDON
Hey, you. Are you okay? What happened?

Carrie rubs the back of her head.
Looks at her hand.

CARRIE
I heard gunshots, came over to check it out --
(beat)
And that’s the last I remember.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Well, that’s convenient.
Given that there’s a dead body in the living room.

Homicide detective BERNIE KEKO (40’s) appears.
Rugged good looks. Formerly buff, now a bit gone to seed.
World-weary eyes stare at the women,
the expanse of soft flesh.

CARRIE
Bernie. What the fuck are you doing here?

BERNIE
Well, let’s see -- when I heard on the police scanner
that gunshots were fired, next door to your place,
I just HAD to check out what trouble my ex-wife was in.

CARRIE
Hey. I was assaulted. I’m a citizen --

LANDON
THAT’S your ex-husband?

CARRIE
Unfortunately. Bernie, Landon, Landon, Bernie.

BERNIE
Please to meet you.
I saw that movie you did with Dana Plato,
Two Jills & A Jack.

CARRIE
Bernie --

BERNIE
Hey. It isn’t every day a guy gets to meet a real live movie star --

LANDON
Aw --

CARRIE
Bernie --

BERNIE
(to Landon)
So was your affair with my wife research for the role,
or are you a card-carrying carpet-muncher, too?

LANDON
What?

CARRIE
Ignore him.

Carrie pulls Landon up. They hug.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
C’mon, babe. Let’s get dressed.
I think we’ve given him enough jerk-off material for now.

LANDON
(fake-shocked)
Carrie!

CARRIE
(to Bernie)
Eat your heart out, copper.

BERNIE
You ladies get dressed.
I wanna check out the crime scene.
Then I’ll have some questions for you.

PUSH IN ON Carrie’s face.
Royally pissed.

CARRIE
Don’t hurry on my account --

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Liquid Courage

Good afternoon, minions. Have I got a surprise for you. A crisp, seductive little slice of noir just waiting to be devoured. Part one of a new story that I call 'Little Girl Blue.' It's about small-town girl Aerin Mist, the sister of a stripper that the newspapers say committed suicide. But she knows that's not true. So she comes to LA ... and goes 'undercover' ...

Drumroll, please ...

***

EXT. STRIP CLUB - NIGHT
The gut-kicking metal PUNCH
of The Cult’s LOVE REMOVAL MACHINE over --

Fantasy Island Gentleman’s Club.
About a mile from the beach on the outskirts of Santa Monica.
Not exactly in disrepair, but not fancy, either.
A meat and potatoes strip joint.
Parking lot a quarter-full on a Sunday night.
Sign reads ‘AmateUr NiGht’.

ANGLE ON --
A beat-up Dodge Dart Swinger convertible.
A YOUNG WOMAN sits behind the wheel.
Listening to the music on the car stereo.
Nodding her head, eyes closed.
PUNCHING her fists in the air.

Meet AERIN MIST (20), recent transplant from the Midwest.
Tall and gawky, a gazelle still on the cusp.
Long brown hair tied in a ponytail.
Studious-looking horn-rimmed glasses.
Which clashes with her denim cutoffs and black leather halter top.
Not to mention the six-inch platforms.

ANGLE ON --
Her slim, amazing tan legs move to the music.

ANGLE ON --
She takes off her glasses.
Puts them on the dashboard.
RIPS out her scrunchie.
SHAKES her hair like a wild woman.

AERIN
(sings)
Scarlet woman, bought me a be-er --

She stops. SHUTS OFF the music.
Looks in the rearview mirror.

AERIN (CONT’D)
I can’t do it. What the hell was I thinking.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
You dancing tonight?

A GOOD-LOOKING JOCK
appears next to the car. Grinning.

AERIN
I was -- thinking about it.

GOOD-LOOKING JOCK
Better think harder. You’ll win, no problem.

AERIN
You really think so?

GOOD-LOOKING JOCK
You’re not from around here, are you?

AERIN
It shows, huh.

INT. FANTASY ISLAND - MOMENTS LATER
Marilyn Manson’s THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, LOUD, over --
The club. Long and dark, with a bar running along one wall.
A smattering of CUSTOMERS on stools.
A couple of DANCERS lounge at the end, chatting.
The BARTENDER cleans a glass, watching -

THE STAGE
On it, ‘Gothika’ (18), pale, skinny --
and, you guessed it --
totally goth, is working the pole.
Down to her black vinyl G-string.
Pierced nipple rings glistening in the pin-spot.

She looks great, if you like that death-warmed-over look.
But she’s jacked up on something -- speed, maybe PCP --
and it’s making her move more like a stormtrooper than a stripper.

THE FRONT DOOR
Opens. In walks Aerin. She’s made up her face.
Almost unrecognizable. Painted, tarted-up.
And scared to death.

She walks over to the bar.
Tentative in platforms.
Sits precariously on a stool.

Bartender glides over. Pounces.

BARTENDER
(leers)
Here for the contest?

AERIN
Uh -- yeah.

BARTENDER
Name your poison. On the house.

AERIN
A Heinekin -- and a shot, please.

BARTENDER
Jack okay?

AERIN
Sure. Thanks.

He turns to get her drink.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Woman after my own heart.

Aerin turns, looks, sees --

CARRIE LOVE
On the stool next to her.
Rakish in jeans, white t-shirt and motorcycle jacket.
Ponytail. Naughty red lips.
Bright blue eyes full of secrets.
What momma warned you about.

CARRIE
Shot and a beer. Simple. Perfect.
All-American.

AERIN
Uh -- yeah.

CARRIE
(offers hand to shake)
Carrie Love. Just making small-talk.
I would imagine you’re a bit nervous.

AERIN
(takes it, shakes)
Hi. Yeah. Thanks. I’m -- Aerin.

CARRIE
Aerin?
I would have figured you for a Becky or a Susie.
Heather, maybe.

AERIN
(smiles)
My father’s an English professor.

The bartender places the beer and shot in front of Aerin.
Carrie pulls out a money clip. Peels off a fifty. Tosses it.

CARRIE
Leave the bottle. Keep the change.

Bartender gives her a look.
Takes the bill. Glides away.
Carrie fills her shot glass.
Raises it in a toast.
Aerin raises hers.
They CLINK.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

They down them. Grab their beers.
Take a swig. Smile.

AERIN
So -- you’re not a dancer --

CARRIE
(pours two more)
Hell, no. I’m a dick.

AERIN
A what?

Carrie does her shot.
Aerin follows. Staring.

CARRIE
(pours two more)
Private dick. You know, missing persons.
Cheating spouses. Serial killers.
Cat stuck in a tree. The usual.

AERIN
You’re a private detective?

The song ends.
The DJ’S Voice BOOMS over the sound system.

OILY DJ
Give it up for GOTHIKA, fellas.
Wasn’t she AMAZING?

A smattering of half-hearted applause.

CARRIE
(raises her shot)
To Gothika --

AERIN
Gothika.

They down them.
Carrie pours two more.

CARRIE
(raises hers)
Liquid courage.

Aerin NODS. They both SLAM THEM.

OILY DJ
Up next, we have the lovely AERIN.

AERIN
Shit, that’s me.

She hops off the stool.
Pulls a CD out of her bag.
Weaves a little.

AERIN (CONT'D)
Wish me luck.

CARRIE
Luck has nothing to do with it.
(beat)
Not with that chassis.

Aerin grins. Turns to go.
Stops. Looks at Carrie.

AERIN
I’d like to talk to you about something.
You gonna stick around?

CARRIE
(Cheshire cat grin)
Consider me stuck.

Solid Gold Siren

It's 'Hump Day,' crime junkies. You what that means, don't you? Time to get laid? Naw ... it's time for a mid-week jolt of pure adrenaline to the solar plexus. So ask yourself punk, do you feel lucky? Then get ready to rock the casbah with private eye Carrie Love ...

Screened LIVE FREE AND DIE HARD last night, and what a thrill-ride that was. So satisfying to see Bruce Willis back in the saddle as detective John McClane. The story is beyond over the top, but that's the whole point. Funny script, great action, and just alot of old-fashioned fun. Timothy Olyphant was just supberb as the hacker from hell -- and I didn't even mind Kevin Smith in a small role as 'The Warlock.' Check it out if you haven't. Good times, indeed.

As some of you saw on my Facebook page yesterday, I've started a new story -- LITTLE GIRL BLUE, about a stripper who suppposedlly committed suicide -- and her sister, fresh off the boat, who goes undercover in the strip club where she worked to find out what really happened. I'll post the first scene later today ... but for now ...

Onto Wilshire Boulevard. The land of celluloid, murderous dreams. In today's two-parter, we once again meet hitman/wannabe director Phillie Pfugg, who's cutting his masterpiece ... and then private eye Carrie Love, who's interviewing former flame Gay Flender, who has hired Carrie to find out who murdered her husband.

Let the games begin ...

***

INT. PHILLIE PFUGG’S JOINT - HOME STUDIO - DAY
Phillie sits at his computer workstation.
PUNCHES a button on his reel-to-reel.

We hear --

MALE VOICE (V.O.)
It’s a simple job. Five thousand now,
five thousand after it’s done.
Do we have a deal?

PHILLIE (V.O.)
Deal.

MALE VOICE (V.O.)
And remember, you have to get rid of the body.
How is up to you.

He PUNCHES the tape off.
Grins. Pleased with himself.

PHILLIE
Got you by the balls, sucker.

Chinette walks into frame.

CHINETTE
Get rid of the body? I heard someone say
GET RID OF THE BODY.

PHILLIE
Darling, let me explain --

CHINETTE
Explain? You said you retired,
and now I hear someone hiring you to do a JOB.

PHILLIE
That’s ADR for Head Shot, sugarplum.
Looping. I’m timing the lines to make sure they fit.
(beat)
Bruce Campbell. Hell of an actor.
I’m still pinching myself --

CHINETTE
Bruce Campbell? I LOVE Bruce Campbell.
I saw him do Evil Dead in the Park.

PHILLIE
Well, Head Shot is gonna make Evil Dead
look like High School Musical, love-muffin.
And YOU’RE gonna be on the red carpet with ME,
waiving to the all the fans.

CHINETTE
Oh, Phillie, you know just what to say to a girl --
(suggestive)
What do you say we go upstairs?

PHILLIE
I’m sorry, hun -- but it’s not -- healed yet.

CHINETTE
I thought the infection was --
(alarmed)
Is it -- okay?

PHILLIE
Not to worry, my pet.
It just needs -- a little more time.
Pretty soon I’ll be riding you
like a well-oiled Harley.

PUSH IN ON Chinette’s face. Dreamy.

CHINETTE
Kick-start my heart, baby --

EXT. FLENDER RESIDENCE - AT THAT MOMENT
A super-sized faux Tudor monstrosity on a leafy cul de sac.
Porsches, Beemers and Benzes dot the landscape.
A HISPANIC HOUSEKEEPER waters a garden in the dappled sunlight.

INT. FLENDER LIVING ROOM
Carrie sits in a big wing chair. Sipping a beer.
Eyes roaming the large, lush room.
Slowly nodding. She looks at --

GAY FLENDER (mid-30’s), splayed out on the couch.
The kind of blinding beauty that stops traffic. Azure eyed.
Chestnut mane. Curvy. With shiny, toned gams.
The stuff of dreams.

CARRIE (V.O.)
And there she was. A solid-gold siren
from the right side of the tracks.
(beat)
The problem with a sex addiction is
it spills over into your professional life.

Gay lights a cigarette with trembling hands.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Take Gay Flender. I had met her at her dead husband’s office --
and within one hour we were playing ‘frisk the perp’
at the Motel Starlet on the wrong end of Pico.

Gay rummages in her Prada bag.
Pull out a prescription bottle. Pops a pill.
Takes a sip from her designer water.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Guess it was a combination of my carnal knowledge --
and the three martini lunch.
Of course, I had to cut if off right away.
I mean, I was working for her husband’s partner.
And I learned the hard way that mixing work and play
is like looking for love at the Neverland Ranch.

Carrie sips her beer. Smiles grimly.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
Nice joint you have here.

GAY
Thank you. We just did a complete re-model.
We used Brendan of --
(gasps)
Thanks for -- coming on -- such --

She breaks down. Softly sobbing.

CARRIE
I’m so sorry -- Gay.

Pause.

GAY
The fucking bastard had it coming.

CARRIE
Excuse me?

GAY
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the jerk,
but he was a fucking crook.

Carrie takes a pull from her bottle.
Narrows her eyes.

CARRIE
How so?

GAY
He’d pad the budget on his movies
and pocket the difference,
never paid profit participation, and he --
(whispers)
Stole people’s projects.

CARRIE
So he was old-school Hollywood.
(off Gay’s nod)
This is the point where I ask you if he had any enemies --

GAY
Enemies? The whole town hated him.
But watch, now that he’s dead, he’ll be a martyr.
Full-page ads in Variety, a Peter Bart column, the works.
(beat)
Isn’t it a bit early in the day for a beer?

CARRIE
I’m having a -- personal crisis of my own.

GAY
What happened?

CARRIE
Let’s just say -- I’m unlucky in love.

GAY
I’m so sorry --
(stares, thinking)
Are you sure you’re up for this?

Carrie drains the beer.
Eyes bore into Gay like kleig lights.

CARRIE
(quiet, terse)
I never let my personal life affect my work.
In fact, when I’m upset and my nerves are frayed,
my focus becomes razor-sharp.

GAY
That’s nice.

CARRIE
(stands)
So where should I start? I mean, if the whole town --

GAY
(gets up)
Start by checking out the freaks at his production company.

CARRIE
The whole company?

GAY
Don’t worry. It’s now only five people.

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Lighting up a smoke.

CARRIE
Now that’s what I call a mini-major --

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Incident on Hollywood Boulevard

Hello, Ruby Tuesday. Where you been all my life -- or death? Welcome to another spine-tingling ticket to the dark side ... where the gates of Hell will open up and swallow you whole. If you're lucky. So put down whatever you're doing, and get the Hell in here ...
Screened the first half-hour of LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD last night, and was loving it ... but then there was a knock at the door ... and there were two lovely ladies standing there with a bottle of wine ... one is my neighbor's GF (he's away at Cannes - tee hee) ... and the other was her BFF ... and they wanted to party ... so I broke my 'weekends only' rule.

Let's just leave the rest to your imagination ...
I'm still a little sore.

Onto today's three-fer from Wilshire Boulevard.

Part 1: Carrie Love motors over to Gay Flender's joint, on the good side of town.
Part 2: The cops find Gay's husband Harvey's body on the Hollywood walk of fame.
Part 3: Christian producer Ken Rice and his 'agent' David Nance toast to Harvey's demise at a chicken-hawk bar. (Not for the faint of heart.)

Let the the games begin ...

***

EXT. OCEAN AVENUE - CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - AT THAT MOMENT
The silky, hep-cat swing of Milt Buckner’s THE BEAST
on the car stereo grooves over --

Carrie’s white whale. Cruising north through a tunnel of palm trees.
Passes lux beach joints. Ivy at the Shore --

CARRIE (V.O.)
Ah. Smoggy, muggy Los Angeles.
Like a sauna, blanketing this godforsaken berg
like a warm, damp shroud.
Just the thing for a hangover.

The car stops at a light.
The sign reads MONTANA AVE.

Carrie signals. Turns right.
Starts heading east.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
My mouth was dry. Heart, pounding. Head, throbbing.
Muscles aching from my tryst with the Empress of the Damned.

CAMERA flies by a series of trendy boutiques.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Maybe this would help take my mind off
being left at the dog collar.
An easy, simple missing husband --
who’s probably sleeping off a bender
in some sleazy motel room with a high-priced call girl.

The car turns left onto 26th Street.
Passes by beautiful multi-million dollar homes.
Luxury SUV’s. Luxury nannies with
luxury strollers pushing luxury heiresses
and future CEO’s.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
This neighborhood always makes me feel like
Ray Milland in ‘Sunset Boulevard.’
(beat)
Hungry. Desperate. Doesn’t belong.

Carrie’s car pulls over to the curb. Stops.
She inspects herself in the rear view.
Sniffs an armpit.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Not too bad.
But I probably should have jumped in the shower.
(beat)
Nah. Never stopped Sam Spade --

EXT. VINE STREET - AT THAT MOMENT
A couple blocks south of Hollywood Boulevard,
where the celebrity stars end.
An old hotel, ‘The Grand,’ now not-so.

A small CROWD OF ONLOOKERS
is cordoned off behind yellow police tape.

A uniformed COP ON HORSEBACK
pushes them back.

COP ON HORSEBACK
Behind the BARRICADE --

Another OFFICER, this one a beefy,
plainclothes HOMICIDE DICK,
leans against the hotel steps.
Hung-over. He pukes.

BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK
GAAA.

ANGLE ON --
The bug-eyed dog walker we saw earlier.
Now a corpse lying on a star.
Shot in the mouth. The eyes. Crotch.

The name reads --
Don Simpson.

BEEFYwalks over. Takes a look.
His PARTNER, a tall, lanky string-bean,
searches through Bug-Eye’s billfold.

BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK (CONT'D)
Whattawe got?

STRING BEAN DICK
Name’s Flender. Some movie producer.

BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK
Huh.
(beat)
Talk about bombing at the box office.

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - SCANDALS - DUSK
A restaurant on the second floor,
above a gay video store.

INT. SCANDALS - CONTINUOUS
Connie Francis’ SECOND HAND LOVE plays on a jukebox over --
Dark, very old school. BARTENDERS in shirt and tie.
Cute, buff WAITERS strut about.
The patrons are all men. Very old. Or very young.

Ambiance heavy and quiet with lust and money.
Welcome to a ‘chicken-hawk’ bar.

Ken sits at the bar with DAVID NANCE (50’s),
gender-fuck clone from another planet.
Stick thin. Fashion a’la ‘85.
Spiky hair teased with blond tips.
Eyes bright with makeup.
He raises a pink cocktail with an umbrella.

DAVID
Here’s to the demise of the biggest
fucking thief in Hollywood.

Ken grins. Raises his glass.

KEN
And -- to my pet project.

They sip.
Eyes twinkling.

DAVID
And just why doesn’t your
AGENT know about this ‘pet’ project?
Hmmm?

KEN
I’ve been keeping it to myself for a bit.
Didn’t want to go off half-cocked.

DAVID
Who does?
(winks)
So spill it.

KEN
Okay. Did you see on the news about that teacher
that had an affair with one of the students?

DAVID
I saw it on Perez Hilton.
The boy is what, 13?
Talk about prime rib.
(sips his drink)
Shame on that teacher,
seducing a young boy like that.
Old enough to be his mother.

KEN
This is another one.
The teacher, a man, had an affair with a student,
a sixteen-year-old BOY --
(dramatic pause)
Who turns out to be his SON.

DAVID
Kinky. But I can’t sell that to a network.

KEN
I have a plan.
(sips his drink)
The Lord works in mysterious ways, my boy.

Ken notices someone at the other end of the bar.
His eyes light up. He leans over to the bartender.

KEN (CONT’D)
You see that great, big bear of a man down there?
Would you please send him another drink?
On me --

ANGLE ON --
A large, hulking freak of a guy.
A 300-pounder.
Massive, misshapen head
like something out of FREAKS.

He finishes his drink.
Starts CRUNCHING ice.
Dim bulb flickering.

KEN (CONT’D)
And be sure to tell him who its from.