Monday, December 20, 2010
It Only Hurts When I Punch Someone
Hey there, crime kids. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where your most violent 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 14 of NOWHERE GIRLS, it's the calm before the storm when black ops spook Serge Reno escorts covert ops Cherry Nation and April Street into their new Winnebago safe house on wheels. Meanwhile, 'assassin to the stars' The Bagger and junior hitman Lemon LeBon are hot on their tail, as are FBI agents Sunday Sparks and Max Cargo ...
EXT. VENICE BEACH BOARDWALK - NIGHT
Deserted at this hour. Except for a few piles
of humanity wrapped in rags, dozing peacefully.
Serge, Cherry and April walk briskly
toward the parking lot at the north end.
How’s your leg?
Don’t think I’ll be dancing anytime soon.
How’s your arm?
It only hurts when I punch someone.
We’re almost there.
They get to the lot.
There’s a few old, trashy MOTOR HOMES
parked at the end.
Ratty, painted with crude bright colors.
Blacked out windows. Graffiti.
Weird shit piled on top.
Serge walks up to the largest one.
It has a sign on the window.
JESUS WAS HOMELESS.
And here we are.
Be it ever so humble --
He looks around.
Satisfied that no one is following them.
Unlocks the door. Opens it. Beckons them inside.
Entre, s’il vous plait.
Cherry and April exchange glances.
Shrug. Start up the steps.
INT. MOTOR HOME - CONTINUOUS
Breathtakingly beautiful. Plush carpet.
Giant plasma screen. State-of-the-art
communications and computer technology.
New galley. Comfy furniture. The works.
Wow, this joint is THE BOMB.
We be riding in STYLE.
Serge closes the door.
SPINS a wheel, LOCKS it, CLICK.
We have rations for a month.
Global satellite tracking.
A complete arsenal,
including heat-seaking missiles.
And it sleeps two comfortably.
Three is a bit of a squeeze,
but I think we can manage.
No time for shenanigans, kids.
We’ve got to get on the stick, pronto.
Uncle Sam wants our ass like grass.
C’mon, let’s upload Bibi’s phone data
and check out her intel.
Serge pulls Bibi’s cell out his pocket.
Holds it up. Smiles.
Let your fingers do the spying --
EXT. STREET CORNER - NIGHT
Down the street, Bugs’ SUV comes to a stop
where the street ends at the boardwalk.
INT. BUGS SUV - CONTINUOUS
The Bagger leans out the window,
looks through binoculars.
Turns and looks at Lemon.
Bingo. They went into that motor home.
One of those shitty homeless RV’s? Ew.
No, it’s brilliant. Perfect cover.
(opens the door)
C’mon, let’s go open us a can of vagina.
(turns to Bugs)
You come, too. The more the merrier.
(pulls out his weapon)
Lock, stock and two smoking BARRELS.
They pile out of the vehicle.
EXT. STREET CORNER - CONTINUOUS
The Bagger pulls out a 9MM Baretta with a silencer.
SHOOTS Bugs in the head. THWIP.
He falls into a row of shrubs, THUD.
What did you do THAT for?
I fucking HATE Guy Ritchie --
EXT. BIBI’S SAFE HOUSE - AT THAT MOMENT
It’s a madhouse. Medical techs are
taking away dead FBI agents on stretchers.
Crime scene techs are sifting
through the rubble looking for evidence.
Sunday and Max stand nearby, watching.
Sipping coffee. Sunday is listening
to someone on her cell phone. She nods slowly.
(on the phone)
Excellent, York. You get a gold star.
She CLICKS the phone shut.
Put it in her pocket.
It would seem that our plucky lasses
escaped by the skin of their teeth.
Not so fast, super sleuth.
I just received word from HQ
that La Salle’s cell phone is still active.
Then that means --
They’ve got it.
And we can track their tight,
little asses with it.
I like the sound of THAT.
Thought you might.
Well, I’m actually more of a leg man --