Happy Monday, crime slicksters. Are you ready for another trip to the dark side? Ready for a hardboiled punch in the gut? Then get your assess over to the coolest crime joint in cyberspace, where the chicks are hot, and the action hotter ... at That Killing Feeling.
Onto today's chapter from NOWHERE GIRLS, where the plot gets thicker ... and hotter ...
Today we meet black ops spook femme fatale Honey Almond, commander of a squad of spooks deep down in her underground lair, beneath Mann's Chinese Theater in downtown Hollywood, where right now she's dealing with a little 'staffing problem' ...
EXT. MANN’S CHINESE THEATER - NIGHT
The familiar edifice to cinema and false idols.
TOURISTS gape at the foot and handprints in the cement.
A LOW-BUDGET BATMAN stands proudly near the gates.
On a mission to nowhere.
CAMERA moves toward the theater, then as if by magic,
moves down through the sidewalk into --
INT. MANN’S CHINESE THEATER - SUB-BASEMENT - CONTINUOUS
A dimly-lit command center.
Dozens of plasma screen monitors
show blinking rows of data.
A couple dozen OPERATIVES man workstations.
Scurry about the hive of activity.
Supervising the hive is a tall,
curvy goblet of brunette wonder.
Sensual. Elegant. And completely twisted.
Meet HONEY ALMOND, (50).
Doesn’t look a day over forty.
Moves like she’s thirty.
Fucks like she’s twenty.
Cigarette dangles off her cruel red lips.
Bright blue eyes flecked
with gold flicker with cold blue steel.
(to an operative)
What’s the word from Oleg?
A nerdy-looking junior op
looks up from his monitor.
NERDY JUNIOR OP
He just made the call.
Get ready to patch them in.
She turns, looks at ROCK VARGAS (30’s),
a vicious-looking aide-de-camp.
Elegantly demented in black leather.
Bring me The Mouse.
It’s feeding time.
As you wish.
He hustles off.
(to another op)
The wire transfer from Switzerland.
A tall SULTRY FEMALE OP (20’s)
looks up from her monitor.
SULTRY FEMALE OP
in your ten accounts,
ten million each.
(raises her arms)
Now that’s what I call a BAIL-OUT.
Rock rushes in with THE MOUSE (40’s),
a small, wiry weasel.
Think John Waters divided by Michael Cera.
Y-you wanted to see me, chief?
You fucked up again, mister.
For the last time.
She pulls a 9MM Baretta from her pocket.
Aims it at him.
No. Wait. I-I can explain --
(clicks the safety)
What part of ‘kill Carver’
didn’t you understand?
He’s STILL ALIVE.
We had him, but he -- disappeared, he --
BUZZZ. Wrong ANSWER.
Time for your SEVERANCE PACKAGE.
Honey FIRES. BANG. BANG. BANG.
The mouse HITS the floor, THWUMP.
Dead. Blood starts pooling on the tiles.
Somebody call HR.
A great parking spot just opened up.