Friday, December 10, 2010
Your Birka Or Mine?
Hey there, crime kids. TGI-fucking-F. 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 8 of NOWHERE GIRLS, we meet black ops spook Honey Almond's assassin-for-hire, The Bagger, who has been sent to eliminate super-spy sisters Cherry Nation and April Street. Meanwhile, at interpol agent Bibi LaSalle's safe house in Venice Beach, her compatriot Serge Reno takes care of Cherry's bullet injury, as well as her heart ...
EXT. PACIFIC AVENUE - NIGHT
A VW BUS chugs along up the coastal thoroughfare.
INT. VW BUS - CONTINUOUS
Bibi’s behind the wheel. April sits next to her.
Cherry sits behind April, shivering in the cold.
I’m fucking freezing. Are we almost there?
Oui. Just another couple of blocks.
So what’s the deal with Honey Almond?
Why is she setting us up?
You must have hurt someone close to her.
Well, that only narrows it down
to a few hundred people.
EXT. VENICE CAFE - AT THAT MOMENT
The Bagger sits at an outdoor table
with a cup of coffee. Fingering his I-Phone.
Stares at the tiny monitor.
'Eat at Mohammed’s?'
ON THE SCREEN
We see a porno website. GIRLS OF AL QAEDA.
Captions under pictures of HOT IRANIAN WOMEN
read ONE HUMP OR TWO. WANNA GO TO PARADISE?
COME ENTER MY WAILING WALLS. YOUR BIRKA OR MINE?
Shakes his head with wonder.
Be still my mosque --
A MAN IN BLACK (20’s) approaches the table.
Tall, rugged, in shades. Textbook Langley.
He takes a seat. Removes his shades.
Cold, humorless blue eyes stare at him.
MAN IN BLACK
Ms. Otis sends her regrets.
The Bagger takes a sip of coffee. Stares back.
It’s 'Miss' Otis, fool.
Man in Black looks around furtively, then --
MAN IN BLACK
That’s not what you’re supposed to say.
I KNOW that. But you got it WRONG.
It’s MISS Otis, NOT MS.
MAN IN BLACK
MISS Otis sends her regrets.
The Bagger takes another sip of coffee.
If music be the food of love, rock on.
MAN IN BLACK
Hare, sir. Reporting for duty.
HAIR? What kind of name is THAT?
No, sir. H-a-r-e, like the rabbit.
Well, I’m not going to call you HARE.
What’s your first name?
Howard, sir. But most people call me Bugs.
The cartoon. You know --
The Bagger stares at him. Stone-faced.
It’s a real honor, sir.
I’ve heard the stories about your work.
Is it true about --
(looks around, then whispers)
The Bagger takes another sip. Smiles silkily.
Michael Jackson died of an overdose
of Propofol, a powerful anaesthesia.
The coroner determined that his death
was not the result of foul play.
But isn’t that your M-O?
To make it look like an accident?
Well, you know that Elvis Costello song?
Uh, no --
'Accidents Will Happen.'
EXT. CONCRETE BUNKER - NIGHT
A small, grey building without windows.
Old, faded lettering on the side reads GOLDS’ GYM.
The VW bus is parked in front.
INT. BIBI’S SAFE HOUSE - AT THAT MOMENT
A modern, comfy, glossy work/living space
with state-of-the art everything spread out
in one big loft space.
April and Bibi sit at the bar,
facing the kitchen, sipping coffee, looking at --
Cherry, lying on the sofa,
her pant leg ripped off,
exposing the gunshot wound on her thigh.
She’s being attended to by SERGE RENO (40’s),
tall, rugged, unshaven, Euro-cool.
Bibi’s dark-haired, blue-eyed Interpol counterpart.
The notches on his belt have notches.
Right now he’s holding a
pair of forceps over the wound.
About to dig for the bullet.
Try to relax.
I’m afraid this is going to hurt a bit.
(big smile, staring)
I’m okay. Just get it on. Out. Get it out.
Serge looks at her, amused.
Hold on --
He starts digging in the wound, searching, probing.
April holds her arm. Looks away.
I feel like I’m at the dentist
waiting for my turn to be tortured.
Have no fear. Serge is very gentle.
And he’s good at getting out bullets.
He IS very good-looking --
Is first time agency has used
a male ‘honey trap.’
Results have been very good.
Just look at your sister,
she is completely,
how you say, smitten.
Stares at Serge as he continues
to dig for the bullet.
So you’re --
French? How long have you --
Worked with Bibi?
Serge ignores her, working the instrument.
He GRABS something. Smiles.
Shhh. I’ve almost got it --
He tries to grasp the bullet,
but it’s slippery with blood.
Tries again. But it slips.
Once again -- and GETS it.
Serge pulls out the bullet.
Drops it in a paper cup
on the coffee table. CLICK.
(looks at the cup)
Hey. Aren’t you supposed to
drop the bullet into a metal
cup like they do in the movies
so it makes that 'clang' sound?
He smiles at her. Raises an eyebrow.
Jean luc Goddard once said --
all you need for a film is a girl and a gun.
But he left out one thing.
He leans over.
Kisses her softly on the lips.