Wednesday, September 29, 2010
It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where your darkest fantasies become sins of the flesh, right here, where the hardboiled action is non-stop, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
In Chapter 12 of NOWHERE GIRL, things heat up when CIA agent Shag Holiday races to rescue stripper-with-a-suitcase-nuke Cherry Nation. Meanwhile, Sledge Crafton's black ops spook Yuri Vlaovic gives the cops the license number of the car Homeland Security agent April Street is driving, so they can help him catch her ...
EXT. PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY - NIGHT
A Corvette convertible RACES up the coastline.
INT. CORVETTE - MOVING - NIGHT
Shag’s behind the wheel. Talking on his cell.
Thanks again for watching the kids, mom.
No, I told you -- she’s not in trouble.
She just -- needs some help.
Love you, too.
He ends the call.
PUNCHES another number. Listens.
Hey there, Gossip Girl.
It’s your favorite rogue agent.
INT. CIA HEADQUARTERS - CUBICLE - NIGHT
Lark sips a mug of coffee. Smiles into her headset.
Hey, there. Ready to rock and roll?
Thanks for helping me.
You could lose your job.
I can always get another job.
But I can’t get another you.
EXT. SUNSET BOULEVARD - NIGHT - AT THAT MOMENT
Cherry and Peeler run down the alley behind Jumbo’s.
We gotta get wheels, fast.
Maybe we should -- I dunno, turn ourselves in.
I mean, she’s a FEDERAL AGENT.
We’re in serious shit.
We’re in this too far to quit now.
And besides, I though you wanted to fuck me.
Peeler’s face turns RED. What the -- ?
Cherry pulls out a GUN. Evil smile.
C’mon, let’s go get us a car.
INT. JUMBO’S CLOWN ROOM - NIGHT - AT THAT MOMENT
The Intruder lies on the floor. He raises his head.
OW, that HURTS. He pushes himself up
by his arms into a sitting position.
Looks around. April is gone. This is NOT good.
Stripper Bartender STOMPS over to him.
Get the FUCK outta my bar.
You scared away all the fucking CUSTOMERS.
A siren WHOOP-WHOOPS outside.
Intruder takes off the motorcycle helmet.
Pulls out his ID.
INTRUDER IN BLACK
I’m federal agent, Ma’am.
This is matter of national security.
You mean --
INTRUDER IN BLACK
I’m one of good guys.
Meet YURI VLAOVIC (40), Croatian ex-pat.
Another agent under Sledge’s employ.
Expert assassin. Strictly old-school.
Two COPS come racing in. Weapons drawn.
LAPD! Stay where YOU ARE!
Yuri sighs. Shows them his ID.
Angry looks at his credentials. Holy cow.
He’s Homeland Security.
With that accent?
Yuri’s cell phone RINGS.
He gets up slowly. Answers it.
Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.
(into the phone)
Is Yuri --
INT. INTELLIGENCE OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Sledge sits in an easy chair by the window sipping a scotch.
You get her yet?
She, uh -- got away, sir.
You let her GET AWAY?
Don’t worry, I get her.
She is driving car of employee of Avi.
I have license number.
Every cop in city will be on her ass
if I tell them she is terrorist.
I knew there was a reason
we paid big bucks to get you on board.
Go get ‘em, and report to me
as soon as anything happens.
This one’s personal.
Yes, sir. Over and under.
He clicks shut the phone.
Smiles strangely. Looks pensive.
Angry Cop stares at Yuri.
You’re chasing a TERRORIST?
Yes. She is very dangerous.
We have to apprehend her immediately.
And you have her license number? Give it me.
Yuri pulls a notebook out of his pocket.
Scribbles on it. Hands it to Ugly.
I believe term is 'APB?'