Happy Monday, crime slicksters. Are you ready for another heaping slab of hardboiled pulp, served with a side order of noir? Then get your tight little asses over to the coolest joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
Onto today's episode of BLOOD GETS IN YOUR EYES, where the plot not only thickens, it congeals.
First up, we meed Vlad the impaler and his goth beauty Anya, who are about to rob a dungeon on their way to go help the gang get rid of the dead body. Meanwhile, drug dealer Beggar Leck cruises over to a ritzy party at a rooftop condo at the beach where he hopes to sell his wares in order to pay Vlad for his ungodly services ...
EXT. LONG BEACH DOCKS - WAREHOUSE - NIGHT
A shitty, old crumbling building at the far end of the docks.
A cluster of expensive CARS and LIMOS are parked in front.
A BLACK HUMMER pulls into a space. Stops.
INT. HUMMER - CONTINUOUS
We see Vlad behind the wheel, rakish in black leather and studs.
In the passenger seat is Anya, resplendent in vinyl,
rubber and chrome against milky white flesh.
Welcome to hell, my little turtle-dove.
Is new dungeon. My heart is all a-flutter.
He pulls out a pair of black masks. Hands her one.
They put them on. Look at each other. Smile.
Holy whips and chains, Batman.
I’m wet already.
Vlad pulls out a bottle of pills.
Flips it open with a thumbnail.
Chugs a fistful.
CRUNCHES them in his mouth.
Reaches under the seat.
Pulls out a sawed-off shotgun.
Anya opens the glove box.
Takes out a gleaming, chrome 44 Magnum.
They both CLICK the safeties.
Ready to fuck perverts?
Can we perhaps -- sample merchandise first?
But of course. Anything for my dark angel.
He takes her gloved hand. Kisses it.
You are a vision of unholy beauty.
A luscious flower in urban decay.
Oh, Vlad. Moonlight becomes you.
I would die without you.
(raise his gun)
Let’s go rob kinky motherfuckers blind.
Anya puts her hand on his gun barrel. Strokes it.
How you say -- Vlad the Impaler?
EXT. BEACHFRONT CONDO - NIGHT
The wind off the ocean WHIPS the palm trees in front of --
A gleaming, silver three-story single residence right on the sand.
Lights BLAZING. We can see through the windows that a party is raging.
Loud MUSIC blares.
EXT. BEACHFRONT CONDO - ROOF DECK - CONTINUOUS
Eerily lit by tiki torches. Nasty, throbbing techno.
A giant four-poster bed in the middle of the patio, facing the ocean.
A gaggle of HARD-CORE PARTIERS, a rough-looking crowd,
circle around it smoking, drinking. And watching --
On the bed. Fucking their brain out.
The GUY (30’S) is Lief, flabby ‘attorney to the stars,’
giving it really hard to an EMACIATED STARLET (17),
who is SHRIEKING with abandon.
A giant MOUND OF COKE
Sits on a glass table nearby.
A SLUTTY CHICK
Scoops up a chunk on a long, purple fingernail.
(rubs her nose)
Whoah, got a fucking ROCK.
Appears in the doorway to the roof with a beer.
He scans the crowd. Shakes his head in disbelief.
I’ve died and gone to Kid Rock heaven.
He walks over to a pale, meth-skinny GLAM ROCKER
checking his eye-makeup. Taps him on the shoulder.
Hey, Fall Out Boy -- you seen Lief?
Meth-Skinny turns and looks.
Grins a sickly smile. Points.
Right there, on the Sit N’ Sleep.
I mean, the fuck and suck.
Beggar looks at --
Rapidly approaching lift-off.
AN EMACIATED BIMBO
(20s), all legs, hair and Dolce and Gabana,
sidles up to Beggar.
Points her cigar at him.
Nods at the bed, eyes gleaming, swirling on Ecstacy.
Hallo, Mickey Roarke.
Vant to go next?
(sips his beer)
No thanks, baby.
(looks her up and down)
Already took out the Eurotrash tonight.