What Happens in DC, Stays In DC

Happy Hump Day, hardboiled-pulpsters! It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, a place violence. Murder. Lethal weapons. And really hot chicks CARRYING lethal weapons ... right here, at the coolest joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In today's chapter from your favorite spy thriller NOWHERE GIRLS, the heat gets turned up after agents Cherry Nation and April Street escape the FBI in a stolen chopper, with federal agents Sunday Sparks and Max Cargo hot on their trail ...


EXT. SHOPPING MALL ENTRANCE - NIGHT
Sunday and Max JUMP into their vehicle. SLAM the doors.

INT. FBI SUV - CONTINUOUS
Max GUNS the engine.
ROARS out of the parking lot.

SUNDAY
God-fucking-DAMMIT.
(into her cell)
Sir? It’s Sparks.
They’re travelling north in a chopper --

INTERCUT WITH:

INT. LOS ANGELES FBI HEADQUARTERS - NIGHT
The LA branch office. A bee hive of activity.
Dozens of AGENTS man workstations, collect data.
Watch monitors.

Sitting in a corner office is
FBI DIRECTOR CLINT RUFF (60’s).
Tall, wizened, tough as nails.

Right now he’s sipping a cup of coffee,
talking on the phone --

CLINT
How the hell did you FUCK THIS UP?
You HAD them in the palm of your fucking HANDS.

SUNDAY
I’m sorry, sir.
We’re going to get them, don’t worry --

CLINT
DON’T WORRY?
Do you realize I had fly out here to BABY-SIT you?
That the White House is so far up my ass
we’ve chosen a BRIDAL REGISTRY?

He reaches over.
Picks up a bottle of bourbon.
Pours a hit in his mug.
Takes a big gulp.

SUNDAY
I’m sorry, sir. We almost HAD THEM,
but this black op commandeered our chopper --

CLINT
I KNOW that, you stupid BITCH.
I’ve seen the FOOTAGE on the SATELLITE.

Pause.

SUNDAY
Oh. Right --

CLINT
Now get your asses in gear and GET them, GOT IT?

SUNDAY
Got it.
(beat)
Uh -- can we get another chopper?

CLINT
Being refueled. On it’s way in ten minutes.
(beat)
And if you fuck this up, Sparks, I’ll have your ASS,
despite the fact that you’re a fucking DYKE. Comprende?

SUNDAY
Yes, sir. Consider it done. Goodbye.

INT. FBI SUV - MOVING - NIGHT
She clicks the phone shut. Sighs. Looks at Max. Eyes teary.

MAX
Hey. Are you okay?

SUNDAY
Yeah, I --
(beat)
Sorry. I -- so unprofessional --

MAX
Look. You’re a fucking AMAZING op. So am I.
And together we’re gonna get them, OKAY?

SUNDAY
Okay --

MAX
And for what’s worth,
I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole.
My wife left me last month,
and I’ve been kinda fucked up ever since.
(mumbles)
You don’t wanna KNOW
how long it’s been since I’ve got laid --

SUNDAY
You and me both --

MAX
You’re not such a tough nut after all.

SUNDAY
(smiles)
Tell anyone, and I’ll fucking kill you.

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - CLINT RUFF’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Clint dials a number. Takes a big sip of scotch. Listens.

CLINT
I’ve delayed them a little bit. Happy?

INTERCUT WITH:

INT. HONEY’S UNDERGROUND LAIR - OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Honey sits at her desk. Feet up. Taps her Bluetooth.
Swirls her snifter of brandy.

HONEY
As a fucking clam.

CLINT
You realize how DANGEROUS this is?

HONEY
Darling, it comes with the territory.
(takes a sip)
But you know that.

CLINT
Don’t remind me.

HONEY
And don’t forget -- what happens in DC, stays in DC --