Monday, June 27, 2011
Hey there, crime kids. Happy fucking Monday. 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 3 of LEGS, demented German snuff film director Klaus Speer screens his latest 'creation' in his secret underground studio. Meanwhile, private eye Carrie Love vows to find Laura's killer, and enlists the help of her ex, patrolwoman Megan Paul ...
EXT. CARRIE'S PATIO - DAY
Two detectives, JESUS VALENTINE
and ROBERT O'HENRY sip designer coffee.
They watch the body get stuffed into a bag.
Valentine, a fireplug of a man
stuffed like a sausage into a
too-small suit lights a smoke
with a click of his Zippo.
Pretty gnarly tattoos for a chick.
O'Henry, pale, whisper-thin,
squints in the bright sun.
I'd still fuck her.
(off Valentine's stare)
Not now. Jesus Christ.
I told you not to
take my name in vain.
I bet she was into kinky shit,
you know? Probably did pornos.
Those piercing's gotta fuckin hurt, man.
She had her fuckin labia pierced.
I saw this picture once of a guy
who had his dick pierced?
That's shit's gotta fucking hurt. Shit.
What do you think our chances are
of finding the head?
Valentine flicks his cigarette
into the hot tub.
About the same as me
getting my dick pierced.
INT. VIDEO MONITOR - DAY
Images flash over pounding,
ugly German techno music.
Every fifth image is a tight shot
of a penis on a table.
A hand holds a spike over it --
a wooden mallet comes down --
INT. PRODUCTION STUDIO - CONTINUOUS
The faint thump-thump-thump
of tweaker club music.
A dimly lit studio crammed with
Klaus and Jorel sit in front of the monitor.
ZIVA, underage, Gothic-gorgeous and
totally pierced pleads her case.
It would mean so much to me, Klaus.
Saturday night is the Equinox,
and I'm supposed to be the sacrifice.
You should have told me earlier.
There's no time to find a, uh --
(turns, checks her out)
-- suitable substitute.
I mean, after all,
you handle the money.
They lock eyes.
I'm sorry, my little rose petal.
She does a slow burn,
grabs the doorknob.
And she's gone.
The things I have to do
in the name of dominance and submission.
Klaus gingerly rubs his crotch.
Is it healing okay?
Of course. Surgical stainless steel.
Those fuckheads at MTV.
They wouldn't know art
if it fucked them in the ass.
(punches a button)
Enough show and tell.
Time to look at the dailies.
A CD slides out.
Roll it, Mein Herr.
I'm chubby already.
(takes out disc, grabs another)
And I thought you were
just glad to see me.
He shoves it in. Giggles.
We hit the fucking lottery
with this one.
I like the part where
she hits the tree. Hold on.
ON THE MONITOR
we see the road where
the two men were earlier that day.
Our website's gonna get so many hits.
A shrieking Chick flies across the screen.
She takes a sharp turn,
flails her arms wildly --
plows into a tree with a CRACK --
and flops to the ground
like a ruined Barbie.
And people jerk off to this stuff.
INT. CARRIE'S KITCHEN - DAY
Carrie leans against the sink.
Megan sits at the bar across from her.
They clink mugs in a toast.
Megan takes a sip.
(makes a face)
Jesus, Carrie, I said one shot.
(swallows, pounds her chest)
What is that stuff?
Carrie takes a long pull.
Licks her lips.
It's a cinnamon liqueur.
It's got gold flecks in it.
(lights new smoke off old one)
Laura turned me onto it.
(sips, a weak smile)
I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so sorry.
Carrie grabs the bottle, pours some more.
Megan watches her drink, helpless.
I'm gonna find her fucking killer.
That could be kinda dangerous, Carrie.
That's why I'm gonna need your help.
But I'm strictly beach patrol.
I'm a tourist wrangler.
And I just lost the love of my life.
I haven't seen that look
in a long time.
Since that night you
jumped out of the limo.
I'll be good. I promise.
That’s what I’m afraid of --