Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Spin The Dick
Happy Tuesday, cluster-fuckers! It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, a place where your most violent fantasies becomes sins of the flesh, where the drinks are cold, and the chicks are hot, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
In chapter 11 of THE HEISTERS, we flash forward again to the aftermath of the bungled heist, where Kelsey Hazard visits homicide detective Mart Volok at his home, to grill him for information ...
EXT. FOURTEENTH STREET - NIGHT
A leafy side street off Wilshire on the north side of Santa Monica.
Safe, quiet, and not too expensive. The beige seats.
A beat-up old SEDAN pulls up to the curb.
I read in the newspaper that homicide detective
Mart Volok was in charge of the case --
I did a little research, found the guy’s address --
and now it was time to play ‘spin the dick.’
The car door opens. Kelsey gets out.
Walks up the sidewalk to the front door.
She RINGS the bell.
I knew I had to play my cards VERY carefully.
It’s usually not a good idea to fuck with officers of the law.
The door OPENS.
A small HOUSEWIFE (40’s), formerly cute,
now a faded wisp of suburban malaise,
stands there staring at Kelsey with alarm.
Eyes blinking. Mind whirring.
Sorry to bother you,
but I’d like to speak to detective Volok.
I, uh -- I don’t think he’s --
Tell him it’s about the Jackie Tempel case.
She stares at Kelsey balefully.
But it’s dinner-time.
Deer in the klieg lights.
She deflates. Sighs.
I’ll go get him.
The Real Housewife of Santa Monica pads away.
I could smell the pot roast.
Talk about perfect timing.
MART VOLOK (45) appears in the door.
Tall and thin with a belly.
Casual in jeans and a sweatshirt.
But the eyes tell it all.
Razor-sharp. Dark and menacing. Appraising.
You said you wanted to talk about the Tempel case?
You have some information?
Are you here to give yourself up?
You’re a funny guy.
I have my moments.
You’re the one who found the body, right?
And beat the shit out of two of my officers?
Price of doing business.
INT. STUDY - NIGHT
A manly room with shelves of books and a big desk.
Ambience heavy and quiet.
Photos of cops on the walls.
Awards. Trophies. Plaques.
Rifles bolted to the wall on a rack.
Mart sits behind the desk.
Kelsey in a chair in front of it.
So what do you want?
You didn’t come to my home
just to tell me you didn’t do it.
I want names --
Names? What names?
Jackie Tempel’s female associates.
And why would I do that?
Because I could help you.
And why would you do that?
Whoever killed him has something of mine.
And I want it back.
Would that have anything to do with
the semi-automatic weapons the officers found?
(off her stare)
I can’t figure you out.
You come here, ask ME questions,
and then have the nerve
to ask me to give you information.
Why would I do that?
I dunno. You’re a good guy?
You wanna see justice done?
Look. I know you didn’t kill him, okay?
The timing of when the call
was made to us was doesn’t fit.
And the story about going
to the corner store checked out.
My gut tells me you’re dirty.
What’s the story with the guns?
Were you in on that heist at the rock concert?
Heist? At a rock concert?
They stare at each other.
A clock tick-tick-ticks.
What’s your name?
Jane. Jane Doe.
Okay -- 'Jane Doe.'
I’m investigating a murder, NOT a robbery.
But in order to keep my perp from flying the coop,
I’ve let the media concentrate on the search for you.
But I’m not searching for you, Robbery is.
They figure you were in on it,
given the weapons in the closet.
Did it ever occur to you that the guns were Jackie’s?
He was a low-level errand boy,
not a hard-bitten pro like you.
From where I sit, you reek of heister.
I want names.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
You’ve got nothing.
No suspects for the murder, OR the robbery.
Give me the names and maybe I can stir things up a little.
You mean FUCK things up a little --
I bet your wife was quite the dish back in the day.
What the fuck --
But I guess after having the kids,
her figure kinda went to mush, huh?
Now, LISTEN --
NO. You listen to ME.
You think I came here ALONE?
(off his shocked look)
Give me the fucking NAMES.
From the bulges in your jacket
I can tell you’re carrying at least two weapons.
And from the bulge in your gut
I can tell you can’t do two sit-ups.
I have a gun holstered on my hip.
From that position, I’m the fastest draw on the force.
Must be nice to come home
to a home-cooked meal every night.
Bet you even read to the kids before bedtime.
Don’t you DARE threaten my family --
I want the fucking NAMES.
And then when I get what I want,
what was TAKEN from me --
I deliver them to you on a silver platter.
With a nice, big bow.
Do you really expect me to --
I bet she makes really good mashed potatoes, too --
Okay. You win. This round.
He opens up a notebook on the desk.
Pulls off a blank piece of paper.
Turns to a page. Looks at it.
Grabs a pencil. Starts writing --
But know this.
All of these people are under surveillance,
and if you get within fifty feet of them,
you’re gonna be behind bars
so fast your head will spin. GOT it?
Kelsey watches him. Smiles like a cat.
Well, I hope at least I’ll have time for desert.