Friday, July 29, 2011
Death On Demand
Hey there, crime kids. Happy fucking FRIDAY. 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 22 of LEGS, the shit hits the fan when private eye Carrie Love and dominatrix/super-spy Felina Bella Donna turns the tables on demented German snuff filmmaker Klaus Speer as he shoots his latest execution ...
INT. THE BAGGER'S CAR - NIGHT
He tosses the phone. Shoves in a CD.
The Sex Pistol’s ominous SUBMARINE
floods into the car. He CRANKS IT UP.
The madman cracks open
an amyl nitrate ampule.
INHALES it viciously.
Sings along at the top of his lungs.
'I’m on a submarine mission for you, baby.
I wanna go down on your watery love -- '
INT. KLAUS' STUDIO - NIGHT
The power is back on.
Carrie’s tied to the chair.
Jorel confers with Samms
at the control board.
Can you lose a couple of the lights?
I'm fucking frying in this thing.
Now I know why priests always
look so serious and shit.
They're fucking dying.
Felina huddles with Klaus by the camera.
What a deliciously demented idea --
brilliant, fucking brilliant.
A streaming "Divorce Court"
for the information age.
Death on demand.
Felina, when you're good,
you're very good.
And when I'm bad,
I fucking come for hours.
Hey Triple-X --
can I borrow your phallic symbol?
If I can slip one in the chamber.
Enough witty repartee.
Give her the fucking gun.
And give me a light reading.
She grabs it.
Marches over to Carrie.
Kneels at her feet.
That's an awfully big assault weapon
you have there, Mrs. Peel.
All the better to end your enslavement,
She pulls out a knife.
Starts cutting the rope.
They're letting me go?
You're gonna be in the movie.
What? I thought you were --
I am. Just keep quiet.
And do what I say.
INT. POLICE HEADQUARTERS - SQUAD ROOM - NIGHT
A clock on the wall reads 10:50.
Jesus Valentine and Robert O'Henry
sit at their desks.
O'Henry works a crossword.
Valentine pours a cup of java.
I need a nine-letter word for "spy"
that starts with the letter "o."
I don't do that shit.
It's too much like a fucking test.
Valentine pulls out a flask.
Pours it in his coffee.
I say we go over there.
He said he'd be back by ten.
It's almost eleven.
I'm more concerned about
your little cocktail there, Valentine.
Can't wait ten minutes till you're off duty?
Fuck you, man, it's Irish coffee.
You should know, you're a fucking Mick.
Don't fucking start with me,
you refried wetback.
Go flee across the border or somethin.’
They stare at each other with utter contempt.
Valentine downs his cup.
Gets up. Puts on his jacket.
Well, I say there's an officer in trouble,
and he needs back up.
He brought back up.
Yeah, right --
the dysfunctional family picnic.
(goes to the door, turns)
You coming or what?
He shakes his head.
Valentine storms out.
O'Henry stares at the puzzle.
'Operative,' that's it -- operative!
INT. KLAUS' PRODUCTION STUDIO - NIGHT
Felina commands the stage, twin weapons aloft.
Bernie, still on the cross.
Now awake. Still gagged.
Somehow Felina had convinced Klaus
to let her direct the show.
I don’t know what she was planning --
but I had a funny feeling it wasn’t a chick flick.
It was the role of my life. Literally.
Cue the ambiance!
Billows of fog start rolling in.
KLAUS (O.C.) (CONT'D)
I’m too sexy for the music!
Creepy, German synth-pop music bubbles up.
And -- action! Take two!
Felina shoves a weapon against Keko’s temple.
do you take Miss Love to be your ex-wife?
To honor and obey for the rest of eternity?
In death after life? For ever and ever?
Keko’s eyes bulge.
He thrashes against his restraints.
Samms pushes Klaus on the dolly tracks.
grins like the murderous child he is.
She's a natural.
Carrie approaches the crucifix.
And do you, Carrie Love,
take Bernie Keko in unholy matrimony?
To go out in flames with him
to the very gates of Hell?
Do I have a choice?
(off Felina’s glare)
Alright, alright. I do.
By the power invested in me,
I now condemn you to be sentenced to --
(whips gun toward Klaus)
Put your hands in the air, Speer.
There's been a little script revision.
(whips other gun at Samms)
You too, agent freak.
Klaus and Samms throw up their hands.
Jorel spins around.
What the fuck?
Here, kittie, kittie --
cover the evil prince.
She FLINGS a weapon to Carrie.
For me? You shouldn't have.
(points it at Jorel)
On the floor, fat boy,
or I'll shoot a rabbit out of your pants.
He gets down.
Felina, have you flipped your lid?
What's going on? I thought we were partners!
Shut the fuck up, you fucking headhunter!
You killed her! And now I've got you!
(clicks the safety)
The lights flicker. Go out.
It would appear the playing field
is now level, my hysterical one.
Shut up! Just shut the fucking fuck up!
Twin ultra violet rays ILLUMINATE
Klaus and Samms.
Felina. Sporting high-tech headgear.
Never leave home without it.
Thanks for shedding a little light
on the subject, agent Bella Donna.
Carrie steps into the high beams.
I'm really starting to groove
on this spy shit.
She aims her weapon at Klaus’ head.
It's funny, I've never killed a man before --
but now I'm getting kinda wet.
Carrie, no! We need him alive.
An insane MALE VOICE cackles in the dark.
MALE VOICE (O.C.)
And so do I.
A strobe FLASHES.
It's THE BAGGER.
With a rocket launcher.
And CINDY. Cradling a bazooka.
Nobody fucking move.
Or we'll rock your world.