Friday, April 22, 2011
Your Hostage Or Mine?
Hey there, crime kids. Happy fucking FRIDAY. And you know what THAT means -- 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 25 of NOWHERE GIRL, things really heat up when the terrorists assassinate the rich homeowner they're keeping hostage, stripper Cherry Nation accidentally sets off the suitcase nuke, and Homeland Security agent April Street reveals her true identity ...
INT. MANSION - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
Renny sits on the couch next to Rich Husband.
The two guards stand behind them with
weapons pointed at their heads.
Kamal stands nearby,
hands clasped behind him.
Hamad holds Rich’s cell phone.
SMASHES it. STOMPS on it, CRACK.
You called private security!
After I specifically told you
not to FUCK AROUND.
Do you know what we do to people
who don’t FOLLOW ORDERS?
I’m sorry, I guess I -- panicked.
Hamad pulls out a REVOLVER with a silencer.
No, wait, wait, wait!
I’ve got a shitload of money upstairs!
In my safe! You can have it! All of it!
There’s a couple hundred thousand.
It’s behind the mirror on the dresser
in the master bedroom.
Kamal walks over.
Hands him a piece of paper and a pen.
If you would kindly give us the combination.
Rich scribbles it down.
Relieved. Kamal takes it.
Nods at Hamad.
Hamad raises his gun, takes aim --
WAIT, I thought --
And SHOOTS Rich in the forehead -- THWIP.
Rich’s body SLUMPS over. Dead.
Renny’s eyes dart madly, heart racing.
Not to worry, my big, strapping
American emergency services worker.
We still need hostages --
who know how to behave.
EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS MANSION - FRONT DRIVE - NIGHT
Cherry and Peeler walk up
the long driveway in the moonlight.
The lights of the city twinkle below
in the distance.
I think I’m gonna pee my pants.
How’s your leg?
It’s really starting to hurt.
I’m really looking forward to
getting a chance to sit down for a second.
How’s your arm?
It’s throbbing like a motherfucker.
Look, why don’t we take a breather
before we go in, plot our strategy.
She leads him over to the garage,
which is open.
They sit on the hood of a sleek Rolls.
Cherry rubs her wrist.
Ohmigod is that good.
She puts the briefcase on her lap.
Fiddles with the clasp.
What are you doing?
Didn’t you tell me the guy said y
ou’d die if you opened it?
Yeah, he did --
Cherry closes her eyes.
Winces. FLIPS IT OPEN.
But he was LYING. Ha, I KNEW it.
So THAT’S what a suitcase nuke looks like.
Looks like any other bomb to me.
And you’ve seen a lot of bombs --
In the movies, silly, on TV.
She examines the interior.
Points at a small clock.
This must be the timer.
Cherry, I really don’t think
you should fuck around with that.
It’s been a really long night,
and I really don’t feel like
getting blown up.
Chill, dude. I’m not gonna --
Her nose twitches -- and she SNEEZES.
Which causes her finger to
JERK against the side of the clock,
and SPIN a small knob.
NO -- NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!
INSIDE THE BRIEFCASE
A small, red LCD screen reads ENGAGE IN: 15:00 --
with the numbers reeling backwards.
What the FUCK are we gonna do NOW?
We got fifteen minutes to figure it out.
Let’s get the fuck IN THERE.
EXT. QUEENS ROAD - NEARBY - NIGHT - AT THAT MOMENT
April JOGS up the hill, talking on her hands-free.
You can send backup -- I’m not C-6!
INT. CIA HEADQUARTERS - CUBICLE - CONTINUOUS
Lark watches April’s progress on her monitor
as it nears the location of the nuke.
I know that.
Shag said you were Homeland Security.
No, that was the cover C-6 gave me.
I’m a MOLE -- I’m Interpol --
I’m gonna bring down C-6,
the terrorist cell, AND Avi Abbas.
NOW, given how things have progressed,
I’d love a little help at this point.
Why didn’t Interpol ask for our help
in the first place?
Don’t take this personally,
but The Company doesn’t have
the greatest reputation in the
global intelligence community
I mean -- your BOSS told you
not to interfere with C-6.
I -- see what you mean.
C-6 is totally rogue --
their ops are for profit.
They broker arms deals
around the world.
Remember the CONTRAS?
They’ll sell to anybody --
rebels in Darfur,
revolutionaries in Somalia,
the Tibetan Army
-- state of the art weaponry,
sold to the highest bidder.
Kinda like Ebay.
A MESSAGE BOX
Pops up on Lark’s monitor.
Fingers fly across the keyboard.
April, we’ve got a situation in Israel.
I gotta call you back.
Lark hangs up. April stops running.
Taps her headpiece.
What? Hello? You there?
What about my BACK-UP?