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In chapter 4 of THE HEISTERS, we flashback in time to before the heist. Kelsey Hazard meets with her fellow co-conspirators at a run-down little motel at the beach, where the gang starts to hatch their plan ...
EXT. PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - DAWN
Titles read ‘THREE WEEKS EARLIER.’
A heart-stopping gorgeous view of the ocean.
Grey and blue waves crest into white
like knives in the bright blue sky.
The famed thoroughfare twists and turns around the coastline.
Weaves through giant rock formations as if on a dare.
ANGLE ON --
A beat-up old Toyota sedan rumbles along in the sparse traffic.
INT. TOYOTA SEDAN - DAWN
On the car stereo, the throaty devil doll menace
of Concrete Blonde’s SCENE OF A PERFECT CRIME over --
Kelsey. Behind the wheel.
Cigarette dangling on her lip.
Rakish in Ray Ban shades.
I’d been holed up in Santa Barbara
the last few months taking it easy.
Enjoying the local color.
Shellfish, the sea and sex.
Not necessarily in that order.
When I saw that I’d blown through
half the dough from the last job,
I knew it was time to rustle up some more scratch.
So I spread the word through the grapevine
that I was looking for some action.
Things were pretty quiet for a while,
but then I caught a break.
I got a call from one of my go-betweens
that my old pal in LA Ronan Kenny
was putting together a sweet little stadium job.
So here I was, on my way to the City of Angels,
the land of celluloid dreams.
Except this was no dream.
This was the real deal --
But little did I know it would soon become a nightmare.
EXT. SURF MOTOR COURT MOTEL - DAY
A crusty, old ramshackle affair just off PCH facing the ocean.
A row of tiny, shitty cabins on each side of the office.
A sign blinks ‘No V can y’ in pale pink neon.
Kelsey’s beater pulls into the gravel lot with a CRUNCH.
She parks. Gets out. Walks over to the office.
INT. MOTEL OFFICE - DAY
A dump. A small fan tries to push around the fetid air.
The GROTESQUE CLERK, the white version of Precious,
looks up from her National Enquirer.
Shoves a Pringle’s in her gaping maw.
(shaking her head, munching)
Sorry. All full up --
I don’t need a room.
I’m looking for John Adam’s cabin.
(makes a face)
Another one, huh?
(off her nod)
Cabin ten. On the right, at the end.
Kelsey nods. Leaves. Grotesque watches her leave.
Guess dey’re not queers, den --
EXT. MOTOR COURT CABIN - NIGHT
A faded, peeling, shitty, tiny little ‘vacation’ home.
Kelsey walks up to the door.
KNOCK-KNOCKS on it. It OPENS.
Ronan Kenny stands there holding a beer. Big smile.
Come on in and pull up a log.
INT. MOTOR COURT CABIN - NIGHT
A tiny, cramped space, dark with the shades drawn.
Kelsey follows Ronan in. Eyes squinting. Adjusting to the light.
Ronan looks at two MEN sitting at a small table.
Guys, this is Kelsey. Kelsey Hazard.
A large ITALIAN GUY (40’s) gives her the once-over.
You said she was a pro,
but you didn’t tell me she was fuckin’ HOT.
Meet LUDO DELUCA, failed restauranteur.
Expert chef. Not so expert at business.
Double chin and a belly. Salt and pepper.
But good-looking, in that mobster-looking kinda way.
(to Ronan, deadpan)
And you didn’t tell me Pauley Walnuts was gonna be here.
A small, thin JEWISH GUY (50’s) chuckles softly.
Oy. And she’s a comedian.
Meet CHICK ABER, smooth-talking former con.
Now into the big scores. Dapper. Smart.
With more than a little of the Borscht Belt in him.
Smoking a cigar. Eyes crinkled with mischief.
The goombah on the left is Ludo DeLuca,
and the cheap, Jew-bastard on the right here is Chick Aber.
If my parents could hear you now, rest their souls.
Don’t listen to him.
I come from a family of restauranteurs, NOT wiseguys --
Kelsey nods slowly. Appraising them. Sits on the bed.
Ronan walks over to her.
Hands her a bottle of beer.
Thanks. So tell me about the job.
Leans against the kitchenette counter.
Takes a pull off his longneck.
Wipes his mouth with his sleeve.
It’s a sweet job. Easy pickings. Low risk.
It’s a rock concert --
A charity event --
At UCLA. The Rose Bowl.
You want to knock off The Rose Bowl --
It’s a cinch. I worked security there.
I know the layout --
the box office, security, the whole shebang.
But aren’t seats for that kinda thing
sold on Ticketmaster? Online?
Usually, yes. But not this one.
It’s a special benefit for disaster relief.
The tickets are bought on-site, that day.
That uh, earthquake thing.
You’re planning on ripping off
a CHARITY FUND-RAISER?
Well, they’ve already raised a billion dollars,
who’s gonna miss a million?
Kelsey sips her beer.
A million? Nice.
Anybody asking ace shares?
Nope. Equal split, right down the middle.
Who’s bankrolling it?
I am. The job’s THAT good.
That’s very generous of you.
I’m a generous guy.
Kelsey looks at him. Narrows her eyes.
How many people on the job?
We figure two more. Muscle. Drivers. So that’s six.
She nods slowly. Thinking.
So whaddaya think?
What makes it low-risk?
Well, we gotta way in.
We just need to take care of the
traffic jam afterwards so we get out.
There’s always a traffic jam at one of these things.
How do we get in?
The box office is old-school. It’s got a gate.
You climb up over it and get in. Piece a cake.
I used to work security there --
So we just walk up to the box office --
No, no, no. Here’s the beauty part.
We go in the night before.
Then wait until the morning.
The box office opens at seven,
and the concert starts at nine.
It’s one of those all-day things.
You know, like a festival.
I see --
We just need help figuring out the exit strategy.
Kelsey sips her beer.
Leans back against the pillow.
A clock TICK-TICK-TICKS.
Everybody watches her. Thinking.
She sits up. Smiles.
We rig up a fake one and rescue somebody.
Ronan, Ludo and Chick exchange glances.
The woman is a GENIUS.
Hey. Why do you think I make the big bucks?