Monday, April 4, 2011

I Love The Smell Of Napalm On A Stripper Pole



Hey there, crime kids. So you say you don't like Mondays? Then why not 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 11 of NOWHERE GIRL, just as Homeland Security agent April Street tracks down stripper-with-a-suitcase-nuke Cherry Nation at Jumbo's Clown Room in Hollywood, she gets attacked by a mysterious assassin in black ...

INT. JUMBO'S CLOWN ROOM - NIGHT
The front door BANGS OPEN.
In walks April.
Pistol in each hand.

Cherry and Peeler look up.
Scared shitless.

APRIL
Everybody FREEZE.
I’m a FEDERAL OFFICER.

April sees Cherry.
Starts walking toward her.

APRIL
You gave me quite the
little goose-chase, girlie.
You’re under arrest,
both of you.

A FIGURE IN BLACK
appears in the doorway
wearing a motorcycle helmet.

He raises a sawed-off SHOTGUN.

STRIPPER BARTENDER
HEY. NO GUNS ALLOWED!

April WHIPS her head around.
Sees the intruder.

APRIL
Shit, DUCK!

Cherry and Peeler HIT the floor.
April FLIPS over the table,
and they all get behind it.

APRIL
Don’t fucking MOVE. Stay here.

The shotgun BLASTS.
The table top SPLINTERS.

April ROLLS across the floor.
Gets behind the bar, where
Stripper Bartender
trembles on the floor.

She pulls out her Sig Sauer,
FIRES a hail of BULLETS.
They BOUNCE off his kevlar vest.

THE FIGURE
BLASTS again at the bar.
Bottles SMASH.
Glass goes FLYING.

APRIL
Returns fire.
Aims for his head.

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
But the bullets BOUNCE
off the helmet.

BEHIND THE TABLE
Cherry whispers to Peeler.

CHERRY
Let’s get the fuck out of here.

PEELER
I’m right with you.

They scuttle across the floor
to the back door. Push it open.

The shotgun BLASTS.

BEHIND THE BAR
Bottles and glass are FLYING.
Booze is pouring everywhere.

April finds an intact bottle.
Opens it.

Pours it on a cleaning rag.
Stuffs it in the bottle.
Pulls out a lighter.

APRIL
I love the smell of napalm
on a stripper pole.

And LIGHTS IT.
A ROAR of flames
WHOOSHES straight up.

She HEAVES IT at the figure.
He CATCHES IT in a gloved hand.

INTRUDER IN BLACK
Sorry, baby. Fire-resistant.

He TOSSES it out the front door,
where it EXPLODES, taking out
a parked car in a BALL OF FLAME.

APRIL
Who THE FUCK are you?!

INTRUDER IN BLACK
I’m from human resources.
And this is your severance package.

He PUMPS the gun. FIRES.
April DUCKS behind the bar.

INTRUDER IN BLACK
Come out, come out,
whereever you are.

Another BLAST.
It hits a tap.
A geyser of beer WHOOSHES up.

BEHIND THE BAR
April looks around.
Sees an aluminum baseball bat.
GRABS it.

APRIL
Deja vu all over again --

THE INTRUDER
Walks toward the bar.
PUMPS the gun. FIRES.

And, as he reaches it,
he leans over,
pushes the shotgun down --

And April FLIES UP,
SWINGS the bat,
and SMASHES it into his head
with a CRACK.

He weaves a little. Stunned.

April JUMPS OVER the bar.
CRACKS him in the crotch.

He goes down,
reeling in pain.

She GRABS his gun.
KICKS him in the stomach.
The HEAD.

He goes out like a light.

APRIL
I’m filing a claim
for HARASSMENT.

She GRABS him by the leg.
DRAGS him over
to the stripper pole.

Pulls out handcuffs.
CLICKS him to the brass rail.

She looks around.
Sees that Cherry and Peeler
are gone. Shit.

APRIL
Fuck.

A SIREN wails outside.
She dashes toward the back.

STRIPPER BARTENDER
HEY. Who’s gonna
pay for this MESS?

She stops. Turns.

APRIL
Write your congressman --

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