Fairy Dust

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Wednesday -- or for the more banal, 'Hump Day.' Enought dull 9-to-5 nomenclature. 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 13 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, we once again return to born-again wannabe director Ken Rice's 'porn shoot' in a shitty motel room, where transgendered 'talent' Nikki discovers that Ken knows her father, TV-movie producer Roland Yavo ...


INT. SHITTY MOTEL ROOM - DUSK
The shoot is over.
Ken packs up his camera equipment.
Rat sits on the couch reading a comic book.

IN THE BATHROOM
Nikki freshens her makeup.
Does her lips. Opens her compact.

Shakes out some fairy dust.
SNORTS a line. Then ANOTHER.

Shakes her head,
clearing out the cobwebs.

She goes to the door.
Puts her hand on the knob, and --

IN THE NEXT ROOM
the phone RINGS.
Ken places the shoot videotape
on the back of the couch, near Rat.
Picks up his cell.

NIKKI
stays put. Listens.

KEN
answers the call.

KEN
Heavenly Pictures,
this is Ken.
(beat)
Well, hello, David.
(beat)
Just shooting some test footage
of a promising new starlet I discovered.
(beat)
You know the drag review at the Cock Ring?
Guess who’s now in the show --
(beat)
Yavo’s son. Yavo’s SON is a TRANNY.
You know Klaus, the bartender?
He told me -- apparently she was
bragging about her old man
in the movie biz --
(beat)
Last night.
I bought her a drink after the show
and chatted her up.
I didn’t tell her I knew
who her father was.
Told her I liked her look,
and would she like to stop by
the location for a 'test shoot.'
(beat)
You have a filthy mind.

NIKKI’S
eyes go wide. Shit.
This freak knows my FATHER?

She sees Ken over by the window,
his back to us.

Rat on the couch.
Riveted to Action Comix.
Mouth slowly reading the words.

She gets down on her knees.
Crawls over behind the couch.
GRABS the videotape, just as --

KEN
hangs up. Turns.
Looks at Rat. Smiles warmly.

KEN
That was my agent. Nice guy.
(brilliant idea)
Hey. How about getting a bite to eat?
My treat. We could go to Applebee’s.
(notices the tape is gone)
Hey. Where’s the --

He looks behind the couch.
Sees Nikki.

KEN
Hey, what the heck
do you think you’re doing?
Nikki looks up. Wan smile.

NIKKI
I lost a -- an earring.

KEN
No you didn’t,
you have my videotape.
Hand it over, NOW.

Nikki stands.
Holds the tape
behind her back.

NIKKI
I never would have acted in this
if I knew you knew my FATHER.

KEN
Life’s tough, and so am I.
Hand it over, fella.

NIKKI
(winces)
I’m not a FELLA.
(panics)
If my father found out
about this, he’d --

KEN
Rat? I need your help.

Rat sighs.
Puts down the comic.
Damn. Right at the good part.

He stands. Turns. Reaches over.
Grabs Nikki by the throat
with a big, meaty paw.

RAT
Hand it over.
If you like breathing.

Nikki gives Ken the tape.

KEN
See now? That wasn’t so hard.
(to Rat)
Now, would you please
escort 'the lady' out?
Her services are no longer required.

Rat GRABS Nikki by the wrist,
pulls her toward the door.

NIKKI
I’ve got money,
how much do you want?

KEN
See you at the movies.

Rat opens the door --

NIKKI
Please, if my father sees that --

And SHOVES Nikki out.
SLAMS it shut, BANG.

KEN
Well, that was most unpleasant.

RAT
How daya think I feel?
I had to fuck her.

Sacrificing For Your Art

Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 12 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, dead movie producer widow Gay Flender has to deal with a masked intruder. Meanwhile, wannabe 'torture porn' director Phillie Pfugg runs into a little 'weapon malfunction' on his latest shoot ...


EXT. FLENDER ESTATE - FRONT LAWN - AT THAT MOMENT
Sprinklers WHOOSH water across the immaculate grounds.

INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Gay looks at her watch. Anxious.
Goes to the fridge.

Gets a bottle of wine.
Pours a glass. Takes a sip. Thinking.

Rummages through her purse on the counter.
Pulls out a vial. Shakes out a pill.
GULPS it down. More wine.

Suddenly the glass in the
outside patio door SHATTERS.

A GLOVED HAND reaches in.
YANKS the door open.

A FIGURE IN BLACK
wearing a stocking mask enters.

Gay SHRIEKS.
The intruder pulls out a GUN.

HOODED FIGURE
(muffled)
Shut the fuck up,
and you won’t get hurt.

Hooded walks up to her.
Leans in. Takes a whiff.

HOODED FIGURE
You smell nice.
(strokes her hair)
Feel nice.
(her cheek)
Soft. Real soft.

GAY
Please, I’ll --
do anything you want.

HOODED FIGURE
You got that right.

He GRABS her wrist.
YANKS her toward the living room.

ON THE STAIRWAY
Hooded PUSHES her forward,
up the steps. She TRIPS. Falls.

He PICKS HER UP.
Carries her into -
-
THE BEDROOM
where he THROWS her
on the king-size.

GAY
Please, don’t --
please don’t, kill me.

HOODED FIGURE
(SLAPS her face)
Shut up.

He SLAPS duct tape on her mouth.
Pulls out a large,
gleaming hooked KNIFE.

RIPS a button off her blouse.
TEARS it open.

Goes to her skirt. YANKS it off.
Gay trembles. Scared shitless.

He SNIPS off her bra.
Then her panties.

Hooded turns her on her stomach.
Drops his pants.

Enters her from behind.
Sharp, animal THRUSTS.
Gay CRIES OUT.

He grunts. Groans. She moans.
Getting turned on. Inflamed.

Hooded COMES violently.
Gay SHRIEKS with passion.

They stop. Muscles clenched.
Then let go. He rolls off her.

Reaches over.
YANKS off the tape.
Pulls off his stocking.

We see it’s MODI.
He turns to Gay. Beaming.

MODI
That was unbelievable.
We gotta do this again.

Gay smiles. Fires up a smoke.
Exhales a French curl.

GAY
How about --
'naughty Girl Scout selling cookies?'

PUSH IN ON Modi.
His crude, arrogant leer.

MODI
I’ll take two boxes of the thin mints --

INT. PFUGG RESIDENCE - BASEMENT - AT THAT MOMENT
A gorgeous, faded B-MOVIE QUEEN
sits tied to a chair.

A scrap of plywood
strapped across her chest.
Mouth tightly gagged.

She struggles against her restraints.
KICKS the floor.

We recognize her as the star of
DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY.

Phillie frames the scene
through a digital video camera.

CHINETTE
(whispers)
This is gonna look so real.
(looks at B-Movie)
I mean, check it out.
That’s Heather Dick.
From ‘La Cienega Place.’
One of my shows.
And she thinks she’s gonna die.

PHILLIE
(to Heather)
See what happens when you
start chasing the YouTube demographic?
(to Chinette)
Okay. Time to suspend your disbelief.
Places, please.

Chinette finds her mark.
Facing Miss Dick.

PHILLIE (O.S.)
And -- action.

CAMERA POV
The muscle-woman
slowly removes her hoodie --

Revealing an hourglass shape
in a merry widow.

And a black leather shoulder holster.

She reaches behind,
slides out a PISTOL --
and takes aim.

B-Movie JERKS against the ropes,
muffled gagging screams.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

CLOSE ON --
Heather Dick.
Slumped over in the chair.

Bullet holes in the wood.
Blood seeping down her body.

CHINETTE (O.S.)
Oh my GOD, holy SHIT, I’ve SHOT her!
(turns)
You said we were using BLANKS.

PHILLIE
stares in disbelief.
Then, the barest hint of smile.

PHILLIE
We were -- at least,
I thought we were.
(beat)
Well, at least we know
it looks -- realistic.

CHINETTE
Realistic? Realistic? REALISTIC?
I just fucking KILLED someone!

PUSH IN ON Phillie.
Cluck-clucking.

PHILLIE
Darling. Haven’t you heard the phrase
'sacrificing for your art?'

The Cheap Seats

Hey there, crime kids. Happy 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 11 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love has some time to kill before she questions murdered producer Harvey Flender's employees, so she heads over to a local dive bar ... and runs right into Harvey's violent business partner, Roland Yavo ...


EXT. WILSHIRE BOULEVARD - BANK - DAY
Carrie wheels her monster Olds down Wilshire going East.
Henry Mancini’s THE BIG BLOWOUT rocks the sub-woofers.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I had time to kill.
But I was on that stretch of
Wilshire just west of Bundy,
a real no-man’s land.
The cheap seats,
where the streets have no name.
I had an itch that needed scratching,
but I was lost in a canyon of fast food joints,
shitty storefronts and low-end office towers.
But no bars.
(beat)
WAIT a minute.

She suddenly WHEELS the car in a U-turn.
Heads back west.

EXT. BAR - DAY
Carrie pulls up to a small, old-school dive. Sign reads:
THE OFFICE. OPEN 6 AM. GET YOUR DAY STARTED RIGHT.

INT. THE OFFICE - DAY
Tequila-soaked Tex-Mex on the juke.
The Iguana’s OYE ISABEL.

Very dark. A bit dank. And dead.
Two OLD REGULARS sit at end of the long bar
glued to some Mexican soap opera on the TV.

Carrie takes a stool at the other end, near the door.
Beside a big, red leather booth.

A large PONYTAILED BIKER-LOOKING BARTENDER ambles over.

CARRIE
Draft and a double shot of Kessler’s.

PONYTAILED BIKER BARTENDER
Comin’ right up.
(goes to get it)
I remember you.
You’re the one that talks like Bogart.
You sang that song about fucking on karaoke night.

He slides over a cold one and a large shot glass.
She DOWNS it. Take a long pull from the bottle.

CARRIE
‘I Might Like You Better If We Slept Together.’
(beat)
Axel, right?

AXEL
Uh-huh. And I’ve got a girlfriend.

CARRIE
Those are the lyrics from the song.
‘Never Say Never.’ Romeo Void. 1982.

AXEL
I knew that.

The front door OPENS.
In walks Roland Yavo, and --

A SKINNY CREOLE MAN (40’s), stick-thin,
dapper in that decayed New Orleans
underworld kinda way.

Pencil moustache frames a
smug whisper of a smile.
Meet HUB FLOWER.

They take seats in the booth right behind Carrie.
Yavo squints in the darkness. Checks out the joint.

Axel shuffles over to the table.

AXEL
What’ll it be, gents?

Hub raises his hand.
A pinky ring glistens.

HUB
Mint Julep, my good man.

AXEL
Sorry. How about a Long Island Ice Tea?

Hub nods. Smiles.

YAVO
You got single-malt scotch?

AXEL
We got Johnny Walker. Red.

YAVO
(grumbles)
That’ll do.

Axel leaves. Yavo glowers.
Carrie strains to listen.

YAVO (CONT'D)
(harsh whisper)
It’s one thing to add a million, two maybe --
but you’ve got the budget at eighteen.
On a four-million dollar picture.

HUB
My boys are running for reelection.
And I have to make sure the tax incentive --

Axel returns with their drinks.
Hub pulls out a big bankroll.

HUB (CONT'D)
I’ve got it.
(hands Axel a twenty)
Keep the change.

YAVO
Listen, Flower -- the FBI has been up my ass
so far we’ve been picking out CHINA PATTERNS.
And since that stupid fuck Flender
got himself killed,
the place has been crawling with cops --

HUB
Relax, Roland. It’s just a grand jury.
No charges have been pressed.
We just need you to testify --

YAVO
(drains his drink)
TESTIFY? Like HELL.
You’re destroying my REPUTATION.
I’ve produced over A HUNDRED movies.
I’m a GOD in this town!

HUB
I know, Roland.
You and Harvey, over a hundred credits --
(strange, big smile)
Such a shame about Harvey --

ROLAND
Don’t you DARE fucking THREATEN me!

He FLINGS the glass across the room -- CRASH.

AXEL (O.C.)
Hey! What THE FUCK do you think YOU’RE DOING?!

Axel appears. Livid. Beet-red.

YAVO
Keep your shirt on. I’ll pay for it.
We’re discussing something private.
Get the fuck out of my face.

AXEL
WHAT did you say?

YAVO
I said, GET -- THE FUCK -- OUT -- of MY FACE!

AXEL
No, YOU get out -- NOW.

YAVO
You gonna try and make me?

He stands. All five-foot-four inches.

AXEL
Oh. So you’re a tough guy.

Yavo pulls out a long-barrelled COLT-45 REVOLVER.

YAVO
Do you know who I AM?
Fucking trailer park piece of SHIT?

The barrel of a large, gleaming GLOCK
rests against Yavo’s temple.
The safety CLICKS.

CARRIE
comes into frame.
Holding the weapon with both hands.

CARRIE
Dust it, Yavo. Drop the heater.

YAVO
(drops his gun)
Fucking cunt. What are YOU doing here?

CARRIE
(picks it up, empties the bullets, hands it back)
One of life’s little mysteries, short-stuff.
Call it karma. Kismet. Candid Camera.
I really don’t give a fuck.
(to Axel)
He’s all yours, sport

Axel GRABS Yavo by the arms.
Drags him toward the door --

YAVO
Get your fucking hands OFF ME.

And THROWS him into the street. Flower does a take.
Bows slightly, and high-tails it out of there.

AXEL
Nice piece. You a cop or something?

CARRIE
Something like that --

Bigger Fish To Fuck

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 10 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, after private eye Carrie Love identifies the dead body of her neighbor via his bloody toupee, she heads over to the TV movie production company where dead producer Harvey Flender used to work ... where we meet his employees, who are more than a little 'unusual' ...


INT. ASSHOLE’S JOINT - DAY
Bernie stands in front of an old, worn sofa bed.
Opened up, revealing a very dead KIP SLOBOTNIK.
Half his head, gone.

We hear RETCHING in the next room.

BERNIE
(to someone off-camera)
Are you okay in there?

Carrie comes out.
Wiping her face with a hand towel.

CARRIE
Too early in the day for brain chunks.

BERNIE
Or are you still with
the Bushmill’s for breakfast?

CARRIE
Dangle, bub. Put a sock in it.
(nods at the couch)
Think it was the bloody toupee.
The blast knocked it
clear across the room.
Disgusting.

BERNIE
So that’s definitely him.

CARRIE
Yeah. I’d know that rug anywhere.

BERNIE
So what about his roommate?
Where is he?

CARRIE
Martune travels alot on business,
he’s a cigar rep,
always smoking those stinky fucks.

BERNIE
Well, I’m gonna have one of my boys
stake this place out until he comes home.
I’ve got bigger fish to fuck.
(boasting)
You see on the news
about that movie producer
who was shot in the face and left
on the Hollywood Walk of Fame?

CARRIE
No. But his wife just hired me.

BERNIE
What the fuck? That’s MY case.

Carrie goes to the front door.
Opens it. Turns.

CARRIE
Looks like we’re working together again, bucko.
See you on the set.

EXT. CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - DAY
On the car stereo, Divinyl’s BULLET
spits shards of broken glass over Carrie.
Hot in leather. Cool in shades.

The car cruises the Main Street strip
in Santa Monica.

CARRIE (V.O.)
My father taught me how to be tough.
How to make it on your own in the world.
He taught me that life sucks,
and that sometimes you have to
shake off the shit that gets
shoved in your face and move on.
Like the day my mother
packed her bags and left.
He said it was just us now,
us against the world.
(beat)
Until that morning he blew his brains out
with his service revolver.

Carrie stops at a light.
Lights up a smoke.

CARRIE (V.O.)
That’s what Slobotnik looked like.
Like half my father’s head
sprayed across his barcalounger.

The light changes.
Carrie HITS the gas.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Enough warm, fuzzy childhood memories.
I’ve got to get ready for my close-up.

EXT. WILSHIRE BOULEVARD - BANK - AFTERNOON
The big-band swoon of The Brian Setzer Orchestra’s
bourbon-drenched TOWN WITHOUT PITY
blares its seedy swing over --

A FAT, HOMELESS WOMAN in a wheelchair
festooned with a flag,
pinwheel whirling in the breeze.

Giant lobster-red legs scuttling
crab-like movements down the sidewalk past --

A 70’s-era red brick bank
in the no-man’s land just west of Bundy.
The SIGN reads ‘FI ST NATIONAL PHILIPPINES B_NK.’

CAMERA glides up the path
to the front entrance. Doors OPEN.

PIGGY SECURITY GUARD sits at the desk, a human hog.
Shakes his jowls. Let’s loose a HORRIFYING SNEEZE.

PIGGY SECURITY GUARD
A-CHOOOOOOOO!

He HAWKS UP a big glob of phlegm.
SPITS behind the desk.

It hits the bottom of the wastebasket
with a PING.

CAMERA moves left, revealing a GLASS DOOR.
YAVO/FLENDER FILMS, LTD stenciled in plain black lettering.

Underneath, a small, hand-lettered sign
in all caps reads ‘JUAN, PLEASE COME SEE ME.
I HAVE YOUR CHANGE.’

The right door OPENS. CAMERA glides in.

THE LOBBY
isn’t much to look at.
More like the front room.

Cheesy TV-movie posters abound.
We ZOOM IN on one.

A FADED TV-ACTRESS in a Santa hat brandishes a gun.
DEATH TAKES A HOLIDAY.

CAMERA glides by --
In the corner, desk against the plate glass,
a HARRIED WOMAN, (30’s).

Winsome, dark-haired. Sleepy-eyed.
Cute in denim mini and red Ramones T-shirt.
She murmurs into her headset.

HARRIED WOMAN
Stretch limo, smoking, with DVD player,
first priority hair and makeup?

CAMERA continues its journey, glides past --

AN OPEN DOORWAY
where we see a red-faced INTENSE GUY (30’s).
Persian good looks. Shaved head.

Bloodshot eyes burning with
self-important, bipolar rage.
Meet MODI FARAHT, head of legal.


He POUNDS on his keyboard.
BARKS into the phone.

MODI
ONE MILLION? Go fuck yourself!
We paid Marsha Day Wallace three-hundred-fifty,
and she’s an OSCAR WINNER.

CAMERA CONTINUES down a narrow hallway.
On the walls, FRAMED ONE-SHEETS
of Yavo/Flender’s TV movie masterpieces --


MURDER ON THE BELTWAY: FOR THE LOVE OF A SNIPER
BILLY! THE BILLY JOHN STORY
GUYS AND DOLLS: THE NEXT CHAPTER

CAMERA reaches the end, turns right, where we see --

A HORRIBLE, PIG-FACED WOMAN
sitting at a large work area.
Papers everywhere.

Furiously CLACK-CLACKING on her keyboard.
A dead ringer for Anne Ramsey from
THROW MOMMA FROM THE TRAIN.
She speaks into her headset.

HORRIBLE PIG-FACED WOMAN
There’s more beer in the garage, Larry.
But I thought you were working today --

CAMERA MOVES past her, to another workstation.
Behind a computer sits an
ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACED MAN reading Variety.

ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACE
I brought that margarine
in the squeeze-top bottle
I was telling you about.

HORRIBLE PIG-FACED WOMAN (O.C.)
That’s convenient --

A tiny, wild-eyed cigar-smoking FURIOUS MAN (60’s)
appears in his office doorway.

Meet ROLAND YAVO, the senior partner,
a bundle of manic energy. Bluster. Bravado.
And right now, last producer standing.

YAVO
BETTY! Where THE FUCK is my conference call?

Pig-Face turns her head. Looks.

BETTY
It got cancelled on account of --
(beat)
What happened.

YAVO
WHAT? I’ve GOT to close this FUCKING DEAL.
We’ve had cops and media all over the place,
and nothing’s getting done!

BETTY
I’ll see if I can get Izzy on the line.

YAVO
You do that.

He storms back into his office.
The phone RINGS. Odd-Looking answers it.

ODD-LOOKING SAD-FACE
Yavo/Flender Films. This is Fleming.

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:

EXT. WILSHIRE BLVD. - CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie drives, talks on her cell.
Wind WHIPPING her hair.

CARRIE
Hi. My name is Carrie Love,
I’m a private eye.
Gay Flender hired me.

Fleming looks at Betty.
Mouths ‘it’s a private detective.’

FLEMING
Uh-huh --

CARRIE
I’d like to swing by and talk to you.
All of you, actually.

FLEMING
Well, we’ve had a lot of visitors today.
Right now isn’t such a good time.

CARRIE
What if I gave you a hundred clams?

FLEMING
Really?

CARRIE
Really.

FLEMING
(low)
Come around six-o’clock.

Cue The Fuzz

Happy Thursday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 9 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, born-again 'producer' Ken Rice shoots a most 'unusual' porno in a seedy motel room. Meanwhile, private eye Carrie Love gets grilled by her ex, homicide dick Bernie Keko about the dead hippie next door ...


INT. SHITTY MOTEL ROOM - DAY
One of those cheap flea-bag by-the-hour joints
on Sunset deep in the scuzzy bowels of Hollywood.

Weird, old disco plays on a large, ancient boombox.
IT’S GOT TO BE LOVE, indeed.

A small fan pushes gusts of air over --

A tall, BEAUTIFUL GIRL (19) poses for us.
Azure eyes. Legs for days. And weeks.

She moves with the music.
Coltish, a bit awkward. Which makes it sexier.
Behind the camcorder, Ken Rice adjusts the lens.

KEN
Lovely. Just lovely.
You have the face of an angel, Nikki.
(dramatic)
Okay -- PLACES, PLEASE. And -- ACTION.

A door opens. In walks the MONSTER we saw at Scandals.
Meet RAT KODICK, West Hollywood’s answer to Ratso Rizzo.
Without the charm. A hulking, sweaty mass of useless flesh.

RAT
(to the girl)
Hey, baby. What’s cookin’?

NIKKI
(gives him the once-over)
Apparently, you are.

He walks over to her.
Places his hands on her ass.

RAT
I’d love to put something in your oven.

NIKKI
Mmmm. That’s funny, cause I’m awfully hungry --

A cell phone RINGS.

Nikki races over to a knapsack
on the kitchenette counter.
Pulls out a cell phone. Listens.

NIKKI
Hello?
(beat)
Oh, hi --

KEN
Stop! Cut! What are you DOING?

NIKKI
(male voice)
It’s my father. Hold on to your wig.

‘Nikki’ listens. Lights up a smoke.

NIKKI
I can’t talk, I’m in class right now.
(beat)
Music? I’m in music class --
(beat)
My grades?
But I’ve got the rest of the year to --
(beat)
Dinner? Well, I dunno --
I have this exam I have to cram for --
(beat)
Alright, okay. See you then.

Nikki angrily CLICKS the phone shut.
STOMPS her foot.

NIKKI
Stupid old FUCK.

She pulls out a coke snifter.
HONKS a bump. Then another.

KEN
Everything okay?

NIKKI
(smiles sweetly)
Never better.

INT. CARRIE’S JOINT - LIVING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
The swinging, sultry bossa nova of Astrid Gilberto’s
So Nice (Summer Samba) on the mega-stereo over --

Carrie and Landon, spiffed up
in tight jeans and wife-beaters.

They’re splayed out on the large, sectional couch
sipping Coronas with lime wedges.
Carrie sports a bag of ice.

CARRIE
So tell me again why we broke up?

LANDON
Uh, I met my boyfriend Zack?

CARRIE
Oh, yeah -- that’s it.

A loud KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK at the door.

CARRIE
Cue the fuzz.

In walks Bernie. Shaking his head.
He checks out the girls.

BERNIE
Ladies.
(nods at the beer)
Got another one of those?

CARRIE
You’re on duty.

BERNIE
Okay, we’ve got one dead hippie next door.
Clumsily hidden in a sofa bed.

CARRIE
That would be Kip Slobotnik.

BERNIE
Kip got capped three times in the face.
At EXTREMELY close range.
Actually, there’s not much of a face left.

CARRIE
Serves the greasy fucker right.

BERNIE
Excuse me?

CARRIE
He made my life a living nightmare.
Up all night blasting bad music,
getting in my face, hitting on my chicks --

BERNIE
Looks like somebody might have a motive --

CARRIE
Can it, Bernie.
You think I killed Mr. Natural,
then knocked myself out in the alley
where I could be found?

Pause.

BERNIE
Can you come and identify the body?

CARRIE
With pleasure.

LANDON
(gets up)
Okay. That’s my cue.
Gotta date with Zack.
See ya later.

CARRIE
And just where are
you two lovebirds going?

LANDON
We’re gonna go see
the new Vin Diesel flick,
then go to ‘Hot Dog On A Stick.’

Bernie’s eyes light up.

CARRIE
ZIP IT, buster. Not a word.

BERNIE
But I was just gonna --

CARRIE
No.

BERNIE
Ask her if they had --

CARRIE
BERNIE.

BERNIE
Bearded clams on a bun.

Carrie shakes her head in disgust.

BERNIE
See? It wasn’t a dick joke.

Eat Your Heart Out, Copper

Hey there, crime kids. Happy fucking HUMP DAY. 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 WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love hears gunshots next door, so she goes over to investigate ... and gets knocked out. When she wakes up, she's confronted by her ex, knockout B-movie queen Landon Hall ...


EXT. CARRIE’S JOINT - BATHROOM - DAY
The spazzy, liquid surf guitar and sax
of the Brian Setzer Orchestra’s
HOLLYWOOD NOCTURNE wails over --

Carrie in a short, silk robe.
Hair up in a towel. Fresh-scrubbed. Wholesome.
If you squint your eyes. She pads into --

THE KITCHEN
and goes to the fridge.
Grabs an energy drink. CRACKS it open.
Takes a sip. Looks out the window over the sink at --

THE HOUSE ACROSS THE ALLEY
an old, white-clapboard bungalow, like hers.
But this one is in serious disrepair.

Gunshots suddenly POP! POP! POP!

CARRIE
Sounds like the natives are restless.

She goes to the counter.
Reaches into a wicker basket.
Pulls out -- nothing.

CARRIE
My Magnum --
(beat)
Shit.

She opens a cupboard.
Pulls out a GLOCK.

Goes to the back door. Opens it.
Steps out into the alley. Listens.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Two people lived next door to me.
Paul Martune and Kip Slobotnik. Both assholes.
Maybe this was my lucky day. Maybe they were dead.

Carrie creeps up to the back door.
Puts her ear to the door.

CARRIE (V.O.)
All was quiet. Too quiet.
I could hear my heartbeat thump-thumping in my chest.

Footsteps. They stop. Carrie turns --

CARRIE (V.O.)
I felt a CRACK on my head.
(she falls, hits the ground)
And I fell down, deep down into a black hole,
swimming, under water, the current pulling me down, down, down --
(beat)
Until I was gone.

EXT. CARRIE’S JOINT - REAR ALLEY - DUSK
Carrie lies on the flagstones. Towel askew.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Carrie? Are you okay?!

A YOUNG WOMAN (20’s) approaches,
all legs, boobs and hair.

Meet LANDON HALL, B-movie queen,
Carrie’s neighbor, former flame,
and complete knockout in a bikini and Rollerblades.

She shuffles over to Carrie’s body.

LANDON
Carrie!

She tries to reach down.
But the wheels SLIP on the smooth stone,
and she FLIPS up, and lands on her ass with a CRACK.

LANDON
OW.
(beat)
Shit --

Carrie stirs. Opens her eyes. Looks at Landon.

CARRIE
Hey, doll-face.

LANDON
Hey, you. Are you okay? What happened?

Carrie rubs the back of her head.
Looks at her hand.

CARRIE
I heard gunshots, came over to check it out --
(beat)
And that’s the last I remember.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Well, that’s convenient.
Given that there’s a dead body in the living room.

Homicide detective BERNIE KEKO (40’s) appears.
Rugged good looks. Formerly buff, now a bit gone to seed.

World-weary eyes stare at the women,
the expanse of soft flesh.

CARRIE
Bernie. What the fuck are you doing here?

BERNIE
Well, let’s see -- when I heard on the police scanner
that gunshots were fired, next door to your place,
I just HAD to check out what trouble my ex-wife was in.

CARRIE
Hey. I was assaulted. I’m a citizen --

LANDON
THAT’S your ex-husband?

CARRIE
Unfortunately. Bernie, Landon, Landon, Bernie.

BERNIE
Please to meet you.
I saw that movie you did with Dana Plato,
'Two Jills & A Jack.'

CARRIE
Bernie --

BERNIE
Hey. It isn’t every day a guy
gets to meet a real live movie star --

LANDON
Aw --

CARRIE
Bernie --

BERNIE
(to Landon)
So was your affair with my wife
research for the role,
or are you a card-carrying
carpet-muncher, too?

LANDON
What?

CARRIE
Ignore him.

Carrie pulls Landon up. They hug.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
C’mon, babe. Let’s get dressed.
I think we’ve given him enough
jerk-off material for now.

LANDON
(fake-shocked)
Carrie!

CARRIE
(to Bernie)
Eat your heart out, copper.

BERNIE
You ladies get dressed.
I wanna check out the crime scene.
Then I’ll have some questions for you.

PUSH IN ON Carrie’s face.
Royally pissed.

CARRIE
Don’t hurry on my account --

The Stuff Of Dreams

Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 7 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love meets with former one-night stand Gay Flender, wife of murdered TV movie producer Harvey Flender, and gets the low-down on just how sleazy Harvey was ...


EXT. FLENDER RESIDENCE - DAY
A super-sized faux Tudor monstrosity
on a leafy cul de sac.

Porsches, Beemers and Benzes dot the landscape.
A HISPANIC HOUSEKEEPER waters a garden
in the dappled sunlight.

INT. FLENDER LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Carrie sits in a big wing chair.
Sipping a beer.

Eyes roaming the large, lush room.
Slowly nodding. She looks at --

GAY FLENDER (mid-30’s),
splayed out on the couch.

The kind of blinding beauty that stops traffic.
Azure eyed. Chestnut mane. Curvy.

With shiny, toned gams.
The stuff of dreams.

CARRIE (V.O.)
And there she was.
A solid-gold siren
from the right side of the tracks.
(beat)
The problem with a sex addiction
is it spills over into
your professional life.

Gay lights a cigarette
with trembling hands.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Take Gay Flender.
I had met her
at her dead husband’s office --
and within one hour we were playing
‘frisk the perp’ at the Motel Starlet
on the wrong end of Pico.

Gay rummages in her Prada bag.
Pull out a prescription bottle.

Pops a pill.
Takes a sip
from her designer water.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Guess it was a combination
of my carnal knowledge --
and the three martini lunch.
Of course, I had to
cut if off right away.
I mean, I was working
for her husband’s partner.
And I learned the hard way
hat mixing work and play
is like looking for love
at the Neverland Ranch.

Carrie sips her beer.
Smiles grimly.

CARRIE
Nice joint you have here.

GAY
Thank you.
We just did a complete re-model.
We used Brendan of --
(gasps)
Thanks for -- coming on -- such --

She breaks down.
Softly sobbing.

CARRIE
I’m so sorry -- Gay.

Pause.

GAY
The fucking bastard
had it coming.

CARRIE
Excuse me?

GAY
Don’t get me wrong,
I loved the jerk,
but he was a fucking crook.

Carrie takes a pull
from her bottle.
Narrows her eyes.

CARRIE
How so?

GAY
He’d pad the budget
on his movies
and pocket the difference,
never paid profit participation,
and he --
(whispers)
Stole people’s projects.

CARRIE
So he was old-school Hollywood.
(off Gay’s nod)
This is the point where I ask you
if he had any enemies --

GAY
Enemies?
The whole town hated him.
But watch, now that he’s dead,
he’ll be a martyr.
Full-page ads in Variety,
a Peter Bart column, the works.
(beat)
Isn’t it a bit early
in the day for a beer?

CARRIE
I’m having a --
personal crisis of my own.

GAY
What happened?

CARRIE
Let’s just say --
I’m unlucky in love.

GAY
I’m so sorry --
(stares, thinking)
Are you sure you’re
up for this?

Carrie drains the beer.
Eyes bore into Gay
like kleig lights.

CARRIE
(quiet, terse)
I never let my personal life
affect my work.
In fact, when I’m upset
and my nerves are frayed,
my focus becomes razor-sharp.

GAY
That’s nice.

CARRIE
(stands)
So where should I start?
I mean, if the whole town --

GAY
(gets up)
Start by checking out
the freaks at his
production company.

CARRIE
The whole company?

GAY
Don’t worry.
It’s now only five people.

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Lighting up a smoke.

CARRIE
Now that’s what I
call a mini-major --

Half-Cocked

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. Do you know where your children are? Your parents? How about your parole officer?

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 6 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, born-again 'TV movie producer' Ken Rice meets with his 'agent' David Nance at a chicken-hawk bar to discuss his pet project. Meanwhile, torture porn director Phillie Pfugg is hard at work looping 'Head Shot,' his latest cinematic opus ...


EXT. VINE STREET - DAY
A couple blocks south of Hollywood Boulevard,
where the celebrity stars end.
An old hotel, ‘The Grand,’ now not-so.

A small CROWD OF ONLOOKERS is cordoned off
behind yellow police tape.
A uniformed COP ON HORSEBACK pushes them back.

COP ON HORSEBACK
Behind the BARRICADE --

Another OFFICER, this one a beefy,
plainclothes HOMICIDE DICK,
leans against the hotel steps.
Hung-over. He pukes.

BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK
GAAA.

ANGLE ON --
The bug-eyed dog walker we saw earlier.
Now a corpse lying on a star. S
hot in the mouth. The eyes. Crotch.
The name reads --

'Don Simpson.'

BEEFY
walks over. Takes a look.
His PARTNER, a tall, lanky string-bean,
searches through Bug-Eye’s billfold.

BEEFY HUNG-OVER DICK
Whattawe got?

STRING BEAN DICK
Name’s Flender. Some movie producer.

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - SCANDALS - DAY
A restaurant on the second floor, above a gay video store.

INT. SCANDALS - CONTINUOUS
Connie Francis’ SECOND HAND LOVE
plays on a jukebox over --

Dark, very old school.
BARTENDERS in shirt and tie.

Cute, buff WAITERS strut about.
The patrons are all men.
Very old. Or very young.

Ambiance heavy and quiet
with lust and money.

Welcome to a ‘chicken-hawk’ bar.

Ken sits at the bar with DAVID NANCE (50’s),
gender-fuck clone from another planet.

Stick thin. Fashion a’la ‘85.
Spiky hair teased with blond tips.
Eyes bright with makeup.

He raises a pink cocktail with an umbrella.

DAVID
Here’s to the demise of the
biggest fucking thief in Hollywood.

Ken grins. Raises his glass.

KEN
And -- to my pet project.

They sip. Eyes twinkling.

DAVID
And just why doesn’t your AGENT
know about this ‘pet’ project? Hmmm?

KEN
I’ve been keeping it to myself for a bit.
Didn’t want to go off half-cocked.

DAVID
Who does?
(winks)
So spill it.

KEN
Okay. Did you see on the news
about that teacher that had an affair
with one of the students?

DAVID
I saw it on Perez Hilton.
The boy is what, 13?
Talk about prime rib.
(sips his drink)
Shame on that teacher,
seducing a young boy like that.
Old enough to be his mother.

KEN
This is another one.
The teacher, a man,
had an affair with a student,
a sixteen-year-old BOY --
(dramatic pause)
Who turns out to be his SON.

DAVID
Kinky.
But I can’t sell that to a network.

KEN
I have a plan.
(sips his drink)
The Lord works in mysterious ways, my boy.

Ken notices someone at the other end of the bar.
His eyes light up. He leans over to the bartender.

KEN (CONT’D)
You see that great,
big bear of a man down there?
Would you please send him another drink? On me --

ANGLE ON --
A large, hulking freak of a guy.
A 300-pounder. Massive, misshapen head
like something out of FREAKS.

He finishes his drink.
Starts CRUNCHING ice.
Dim bulb flickering.

KEN
And be sure to tell him who its from.

INT. PHILLIE PFUGG’S JOINT - HOME STUDIO - AT THAT MOMENT
Phillie sits at his computer workstation.
PUNCHES a button on his reel-to-reel. We hear --

MALE VOICE (V.O.)
It’s a simple job. Five thousand now,
five thousand after it’s done.
Do we have a deal?

PHILLIE (V.O.)
Deal.

MALE VOICE (V.O.)
And remember, you have to get rid of the body.
How is up to you.

He PUNCHES the tape off.
Grins. Pleased with himself.

PHILLIE
Got you by the balls, sucker.

Chinette walks into frame.

CHINETTE
'Get rid of the body?'
I heard someone say GET RID OF THE BODY.

PHILLIE
Darling, let me explain --

CHINETTE
Explain? You said you retired,
and now I hear someone hiring you
to do a JOB.

PHILLIE
That’s ADR for Head Shot, sugarplum. Looping.
I’m timing the lines to make sure they fit.
(beat)
Bruce Campbell. Hell of an actor.
I’m still pinching myself --

CHINETTE
Bruce Campbell? I LOVE Bruce Campbell.
I saw him do 'Evil Dead in the Park.'

PHILLIE
Well, Head Shot is gonna make Evil Dead
look like High School Musical, love-muffin.
And YOU’RE gonna be on the red carpet with ME,
waiving to the all the fans.

CHINETTE
Oh, Phillie, you know just what to say to a girl --
(suggestive)
What do you say we go upstairs?

PHILLIE
I’m sorry, hun -- but it’s not -- healed yet.

CHINETTE
I thought the infection was --
(alarmed)
Is it -- okay?

PHILLIE
Not to worry, my pet.
It just needs -- a little more time.
Pretty soon I’ll be riding you
like a well-oiled Harley.

PUSH IN ON Chinette’s face. Dreamy.

CHINETTE
Kick-start my heart, baby --

Fast, Cheap & Out Of Control

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Friday. Are you ready for the weak-end? 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 5 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love drowns her sorrows in a bottle of booze after being left by Felina. But when she gets a call from Gay Flender, the wife of missing movie producer we saw abducted earlier in our story, Carrie impulsively decides to take the case ...

INT. CARRIE'S JOINT - BAR - MORNING
Carrie pours two fingers into a cut-glass tumbler.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Philip Marlowe didn’t drink for fun.
He drank to forget.
(takes a sip)
And then remember.

She downs it. Phone RINGS.
Wipes her mouth. Pours another.

RING-RING.

CARRIE
Leave me the fuck ALONE.

RING-RING.
She turns her head. Realizes.
GRABS the receiver. Listens.

CARRIE
Felina?

INTERCUT WITH:

A GLOSSY, DARK-HAIRED FEMME FATALE
in an armchair, turned 3/4 away from us.
On the phone.

GLOSSY FEMME FATALE
Carrie?

CARRIE
You’re not Felina --

GLOSSY FEMME FATALE
Who’s Felina?
Carrie, it’s me -- Gay.
Gay Flender.

CARRIE
Isn’t it a bit early in the day
for -- stalking?

GAY
I’m not stalking you.
I need your help.

CARRIE
What’s the matter,
the batteries in your vibrator went dead?

GAY
I need a -- a private detective.
You did that job for my husband’s
business partner --

CARRIE
Ah, yes -- the missing gay son.
That was a weird case.
Kinky little bastard.

GAY
He’s not gay.
He was just -- experimenting.

CARRIE
Right.
On a drag queen porn shoot in Tijuana.
‘Shemale Trouble,’ I believe?’

GAY
It’s my husband.
He’s -- missing.

Carrie pours a shot.
Holds it up to the light.
Downs it.

GAY
Hello? Are you still there?

Carrie closes her eyes. Thinks.

CARRIE
When did you last see him?

GAY
Last night. He, he --
went out to walk the dogs,
and he -- never came back.

CARRIE
(to herself)
Guess there’s a lot of that
going around.

GAY
What? So are you available?
Can you help me?
Can you find him for me?

CARRIE
I’ll have to check my calendar.

She pours another. Takes a sip.

GAY
I’m at my wit’s end.
I didn’t get any sleep last night --

Gay breaks down, starts sobbing.

CARRIE
(winces, takes a hit)
Alright, alright --
keep your knickers on.
I’ll do it. But it’s just business.

GAY
You will? Oh, yes --
thank you, thank you,
I don’t know what to --

CARRIE
My fee is five hundred bucks a day.
Plus expenses.

GAY
Oh, don’t worry about that.
We’re loaded. How soon can you come over?

Carrie pours another shot.
Downs it. Shivers.

GAY (CONT’D)
Carrie? You still there?

Pause.

CARRIE
I’ll be right over.

GAY
I’m at 134 24th Street,
one block north of Montana.
(beat)
Can I ask you something?

CARRIE
Sure. Why not.

GAY
Why does your card say --
‘Fast, Cheap and Out of Control?’

CARRIE
Oh, that --
(pours another)
I believe in truth in advertising.

EXT. OCEAN AVENUE - CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - DAY
The silky, hep-cat swing of Milt Buckner’s THE BEAST
n the car stereo grooves over --

Carrie’s white whale.
Cruising north through a tunnel of palm trees.
Passes lux beach joints. Ivy at the Shore --

CARRIE (V.O.)
Ah. Smoggy, muggy Los Angeles.
Like a sauna, blanketing this
godforsaken burg like a warm, damp shroud.
Just the thing for a hangover.

The car stops at a light.
The sign reads MONTANA AVE.

Carrie signals. Turns right.
Starts heading east.

CARRIE (V.O.)
My mouth was dry.
Heart, pounding. Head, throbbing.
Muscles aching from my tryst
with the Empress of the Damned.

CAMERA flies by a series of trendy boutiques.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Maybe this would help take my mind off
being left at the dog collar.
An easy, simple missing husband --
who’s probably sleeping off a bender
in some sleazy motel room
with a high-priced call girl.

The car turns left onto 26th Street.
Passes by beautiful multi-million dollar homes.

Luxury SUV’s. Luxury nannies with luxury strollers
pushing luxury heiresses and future CEO’s.

CARRIE (V.O.)
This neighborhood always makes me feel
like Ray Milland in ‘Sunset Boulevard.’
(beat)
Hungry. Desperate. Doesn’t belong.

Carrie’s car pulls over to the curb. Stops.
She inspects herself in the rear view.
Sniffs an armpit.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Not too bad.
But I probably should have jumped in the shower.
(beat)
Nah. Never stopped Sam Spade --

The Big Casablanca Goodbye

Happy Thursday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 4 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love wakes up in her Venice Beach bungalow to discover that Felina has left her. She finds a 'goodbye note' on the bar ... and pours herself a drink.


EXT. VENICE WALKWAY - OZONE AVENUE - EARLY AFTERNOON
Adam Freeland’s hip-shaking crime theme
remix swing of Sarah Vaughan’s FEVER over --

CAMERA gliding down a picture-book side-street
behind the Venice boardwalk, a magical neighborhood
byway for pedestrians, bicycles, skates. No cars allowed.

We continue down the bucolic boulevard
through a tunnel of trees.

Street lamps spill shards of light
through the leaves.

We approach a six-foot-high wooden fence.
CAMERA TILTS up, up, and reveals --

THE HOUSE. A hundred-year-old bungalow.
One-and-a-half stories, with a single window
in the peak of the roof.

Peering out the window
is a three-foot tall blonde doll,
like some kind of girlish guardian spectre.
Playful. Spooky.

CAMERA PUSHES through the gate,
passes a flagstone patio. Lush plant life.

Big jacuzzi, blue water bubbling invitingly,
steam rising into the night.

We go up three steps to an enclosed deck.
Push open the lattice-work wooden door --
Revealing the antique wood and glass front door,
swung open to reveal --

INT. BUNGALOW - LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
A riot of color, a pop art explosion. Imagination.
Big-screen TV. Wall of sound stereo.

A room-width altar.
Candles abound, every size, every color.
Walls painted a bright, deep red.

Barbies everywhere, in ‘installations’
doing strange things.

A child-sized doll atop the giant TV,
lava lamp up her skirt, grins maniacally,
as if daring a visitor to turn on the tube.

In the corner of the room is a tiny,
glassed-in work space, painted pink.

A loft above it, bed-sized skylight open to the stars.
Spilling moonlight across the vaulted ceiling.

CAMERA continues its journey through --

THE DINING ROOM
Walls and ceiling a deep tangerine.
A long walnut table with six primitive place settings,
dwarfed in the sea of wood.

Crystal vase with a ‘bouquet of Barbies’
in fresh water.

We pass by --

THE BAR
tricked out like a 60’s Vegas tiki lounge.
Fully stocked.

A big lit Schlitz globe slowing turns,
spinning out pin spots like a drunken mirror ball.

CAMERA PUSHES through a curtain
of colored glass beads into --

THE KITCHEN
A deep school bus yellow,
dimly lit in amber from several Jesus clocks.
And the ice dispenser on the fridge.

We snake through into --

THE BATHROOM
Like a ship’s stateroom, at crazy knotty pine angles.
Leopard shower curtain ringed around the oval footed tub.

Walls lined with a collection of framed 60’s exotic dancer,
pin-up photography. Racy pulp novel covers.

CAMERA glides through a curtain of gold beads into --

CARRIE’S BEDROOM
Walls and ceiling a deep, vibrant red.
A queen-sized bed, seductive in black satin sheets
and a lux leopard bed spread.

Twin gilt sconces curled into
flowers of light on the wall.

The music STOPS.

Carrie lies on the bed, mouth open. Alone.
Thrashed covers and pillow and sheets.
Mess of black, leopard and bare skin.

She turns onto her back.
Reaches up to itch her nose.

We see a CHROME HANDCUFF on her wrist.
She COUGHS.

The cuff WHACKS the side of her head.
Carrie BOLTS UPRIGHT.

CARRIE
OW, what the --?

She looks around. No one.

CARRIE
Felina?

WHIPS OFF the covers.
Throws on her robe. Pads into --

THE BATHROOM
Empty.

CARRIE

Felina?!
She WHIRLS AROUND, dashes into --

THE KITCHEN
Empty. A small handwritten note on the bar.
Carrie GRABS IT.

THE NOTE
reads ‘You know how much I hate good-byes. Be strong.
Stay sexy. I’ll be home for Christmas. Love, F.’

Carrie stares at the piece of paper. In shock.

CARRIE (V.O.)
My heart was breaking.
My love story never makes it to the third act.
I don’t even get the big Casablanca goodbye.

Carrie pulls up a bar stool.
Sits. Surveys the libations.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I was a ship cut adrift in an ocean of sorrow.
My whole fucking life is a pulp noir
written by some drunken Philip Marlowe wannabe
on a one-way ticket to loser-ville.
Raymond Chandler knew the deal.
Phillip Marlowe drank like a fish.
Helped him think. Gave him strength. Clarity.

She reaches over, grabs a bottle of Kessler’s.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Forget those martini-swilling lightweights
Nick and Nora Charles. Kid stuff.
William Powell, my ass.

Carrie pours two fingers into a cut-glass tumbler.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Philip Marlowe didn’t drink for fun.
He drank to forget.
(takes a sip)
And then remember --

Head Shot

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Hump Day. (Would you like one hump, or two?) 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 WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, TV-movie producer Harvey Flender is abducted while walking his dogs. Then we meet torture porn filmmaker Phillie Pfugg and his steroid-wife Chinette. Meanwhile, Bible-thumping wannabe producer Ken Rice sees the news about Harvey on TV and gets excited ...


EXT. SANTA MONICA HILLS - AT THAT MOMENT
It’s dark. Misty. With only the light of a half-moon.

A STRANGE-LOOKING MAN (40’s),
Ceasar ‘do’, bug-eyed, bowling-pin-shaped,
walks a pair of GOLDEN RETRIEVERS
on a leafy foot path.

He giggles. Fingers buttons on his BLACKBERRY.
The blackberry RINGS some sappy,
John Williams-like theme.

STRANGE-LOOKING
Ooh. Overnights are in --

The dogs STOP. Tense. GROWL.

STRANGE-LOOKING (CONT'D)
Summer, Autumn -- what’s wrong?

Just then a FIGURE in black GRABS
Strange-Looking from behind.

YANKS the dog’s leashes free.
SHOOTS into the sky.
BANG. BANG. BANG.

The dogs RUN OFF.
Strange is pulled into the dense foliage.

EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS - DAWN
Mulholland Drive.
The peak of the land of dreams.

A white super-stretch-limo FLIES by
in a CRUNCH of gravel.

A FLESHY STARLET pops out the moon roof.
Drains a cocktail. YELLS.

FLESHY STARLET
Firecrotch!

She FLINGS her martini glass in the air at --
A rambling, black ranch manse hidden in the foliage.
It hits the front door, SMASH.

INT. BLACK RANCH MANSE - STUDIO - AT THAT MOMENT
The bubbly, Eurofemme decadence of
Felix the Housecat’s MADAME HOLLYWOOD over --

A cozy, dim, wood-panelled basement rec room.
Posters of Bunuel. Goddard. Russ Meyer.
Hershel Gordon Lewis.

A HULKING FIGURE (40’s)
leans over a computer monitor.
Tiny, piggy eyes. Hooked nose.

Kinky black hair in a mullet with bangs
trying to cover a receding hairline.

Meet PHILLIE PFUGG.
Right now rockin’ the Avid.
Cutting his masterpiece.

He grins. HONKS a large glob of phlegm
into his hand. Rubs it on his jeans.
Smiles at his work, pleased.

PHILLIE
This’ll make SAW
look like Pee-Wee’s Playhouse.

He rubs his crotch, gingerly.
Looks down. Winces.

PHILLIE (CONT’D)
Say hello to my big ‘fren --

IN THE KITCHEN
is CHINETTE PFUGG,
Phillie’s better half.

Cute face, but on the body of a dude.
Tiny steriod-breasts.

And hey, is that a five-o’clock shadow?
Right now she’s chatting on her cell.

CHINETTE
'Torture porn?' Are you fucking kidding me?
Phillie’s the next Scorcese.
‘Head Shot’ is gonna clean up
at the box office.

EXT. MULHOLLAND DRIVE - AT THAT MOMENT
A hundred yards down the road,
a large group of CYCLISTS form a human chain.
Dressed like the Tour de France.

Shouting excitedly to each other.
Laughing. FLYING by --

IN PHILLIE’S STUDIO
he looks at his watch. Smiles.
Goes to the window. Opens it.

Leans out. Grabs the end of a shiny steel cable.
FLICKS a switch on a small wooden box
mounted on the outside wall.

THE CYCLISTS
get nearer. Nearer.
Start to pass the house, as --

PHILLIE
YANKS on the wire,
pulling it up across the road,
up about three feet.

He hooks it around a big spike, and --

THE CYCLISTS
HIT THE WIRE!

They JERK, JOLT in mid-air, skid,
fall and SKITTER across the road,
causing the row behind, and the next,
and the next to WIPE OUT,
falling like dominos.

PHILLIE
giggles. Unhooks the wire.

ACROSS THE STREET
a spinning wheel WHIRLS,
pulls the cable back with a SNAP.

PHILLIE
grabs the box.
Closes the window, and the blinds.

Sits down with his prize. Opens the box.
Takes out a small camcorder.

PHILLIE
Won’t need any lube with THIS one.

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD - AT THAT MOMENT
A small strip mall. Dry cleaners. Burger joint.
Check cashing. And, at the end, a small concrete bunker.

Small sign in the window reads
‘Heavenly Pictures. By Appointment Only.’

INT. HEAVENLY PICTURES - CONTINUOUS
A pink-faced MAN (40’s) sits at a desk.
Boyish blonde haircut, parted.
Body, slug-like. Mouth a tight little smear.

Meet KEN RICE, bottom-feeder extraordinaire.
Right now he’s reading the Bible,
mouth slowly forming the words.

He hears something. Looks.
Eyes LIGHT UP. He PUNCHES a remote.

HIS COMPUTER MONITOR
shows a CNN news feed.
A smiling but grim anchor leans in.

ANCHOR
-- where Hollywood producer Harvey Flender
disappeared while walking his dogs --

KEN
smiles. His phone RINGS. He picks up --

KEN
David, hi. Yes, I’m watching right now --
(listens)
I know. Tragic.
(listens)
Probably someone else whose calls
he didn’t return --
(giggles)
You are AWFUL.
(listens)
Of course. We should meet.
(listens)
How about Scandals? Say around six?

PUSH IN ON Ken.
Eyes dancing with a mischievous gleam.

One Crazy Frill

Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 2 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love and super-spy Felina Bella Donna leave Club Fuck and hit the road to Venice Beach, where they have an intimate picnic in the sand ...


EXT. SANTA MONICA FREEWAY - NIGHT
Carrie drives her monster 68 Olds, top down.

Hair slicked back. Leather jacket covers
the remnants of the evening’s excitement.

Felina lays back,
feet up on the dashboard.

On the car stereo,
the ghostly fuzz-reverb surf guitar of
The Raveonettes’ ALLY WALK WITH ME echoes ominously.

CARRIE
(looks at Felina, pensive)
I had fun tonight.
Despite the bloodshed.

FELINA
C’mon love, cheer up.
I’ll be back. For Christmas break.
I’ve got spies to catch.
Terrorists to seduce.
Double agents to lick --

She leans over.
Sucks Carrie on the neck.
The car SWERVES.

CARRIE
Whoah, easy on the vampire bite.
We’re almost there.

FELINA
I want to suck your --
(beat)
Hey, I could give you head --

CARRIE
(shakes her head)
Slippery when wet, doll --
your tongue could cause a five-car pileup.
Why don’t you open the champagne?
Keep your hands busy.

FELINA
More booze!

She reaches into the back seat,
pulls out a bottle of Moet.
Starts SHAKING it maniacally.

CARRIE
What are you doing? Your gonna --

FELINA
I’m gonna christen the love boat!

Felina unties,
pulls off the wire around the cork.

CARRIE
Wait, don’t! You’ll --

But it’s too late.
Felina POPS the cork,
and a geyser of champagne WHOOSHES out,
SPRAYING both of them.

Felina takes a big chug.
Passes it to Carrie.

FELINA
Relax. You’re in rubber.
No stains.

CARRIE
(takes the bottle)
Bitch. Now I’m soaked.
(laughs, takes a chug)
You are one crazy frill.

FELINA
And you love it.
(raises the bottle)
Drive on, MacDuff.
Take me to your sand castle.

EXT. VENICE BEACH - NIGHT
The women sit before a campfire.
Huddled together under a blanket.
Toasting marshmallows.

The remnants of a picnic dinner
lay strewn about.
Bottle of wine chilling.

CARRIE
I have this awful feeling --
you’re not coming back.

FELINA
Don’t be daft.
I’ve never met anyone like you.

CARRIE
That’s what I’m afraid of --
(looks)
Careful, it’s gonna burn.

FELINA
I LIKE it burned -- to a crisp.
Black and crunchy.

CARRIE
I’m a golden-brown kinda gal myself --
(beat)
Soft and --

FELINA
(looks)
Hey. You’re crying. Baby --

CARRIE
I’m NOT crying. I’m --

MALE VOICE (O.S.)
Gonna give us your fucking wallets.

A NASTY SURF PUNK
stands across the campfire.
Wielding a switchblade.

A sickly, FILTHY BEACH JUNKIE,
next to him, waves a broken beer bottle.

NASTY SURF PUNK
Toss ‘em over, NOW.

FILTHY BEACH JUNKIE
And your boom box, bitch.
Gimmee, gimmee.

NASTY SURF PUNK
Maybe we should fuck ‘em first.

The girls WHIP OUT their guns.
The assholes FREEZE.

CARRIE
I’ve got stinky.
You get ugly.

FELINA
Which is which?

CARRIE
Flip a coin.
(at them, smooth)
Get your white trash
crust-infected asses
THE FUCK outta here.

FELINA
Before we BLOW OFF
your bloody DINGLE-BERRIES.


They scuttle away.
The girls smile.
Lower their guns. Kiss.

CARRIE
Let’s blow this sand dune.
The bungalow awaits.

FELINA
Did that -- ruin the mood?

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Eyes burning with mischief.

CARRIE
Actually, it kinda started one --

Shaken, Not Slurred

Hey there, crime kids. Happy 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.

Next up, it's part three of the 'Carrie Love Trilogy.' WILSHIRE BOULEVARD takes place not long after LEGS ended, with Carrie Love enjoying some well-deserved time off with her new squeeze, Felina Bella Donna. This was written three years ago, and looks like it's FINALLY making it to the big screen soon. This was written after I discovered and fell in love with film noir and the works of Raymond Chandler. Indeed, my manager describes it as 'Chandler meets Tarantino.' Ladies and gentlemen, let the games begin ...

In Chapter 1 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, we meet private eye Carrie love and off-duty spy Felina Bella Donna, rocking the dance floor at Club Fuck ... who get interrupted by a large man with a gun ...


INT. CLUB FUCK - NIGHT
The greasy, chainsaw-psychobilly tattooed snarl
of The Horrorpops’ KISS KISS, KILL KILL bleeds over --

SLEAZY CLUB KIDS shaking it with abandon.
Strobes FLASH mirror balls
in a kaleidoscope of color.

Lasers CRACKLE go-go dancers on pillars.
Hot STUD. Hotter BABE. Hottest T-GIRL.

Welcome to CLIT CLUB.
Home of the free.
Land of the dazed.

CAMERA
finds two HOT CHICKS
shaking it on the dance floor.

The BRUNETTE (30’s) whirls her hair
like a headbanger on meth.

Runway model bod in a
neon red rubber minidress.

Dances like she’s in ecstacy.
Or crazy. Maybe a little of both.

BRUNETTE (V.O.)
That’s me on the left.
The one dressed like a cherry popsicle.
What can I say. It’s a real turn-on.
Life’s too short, and you gotta grab
all the cheap, pervy thrills you can get.

The REDHEAD (20’s)
writhes in synch with Brunette.

Slides her hands down her partner’s hips.
Eyes flashing. Shiny, perfect,
heart-shaped face beams with carnal desire.

She leans in. Kisses her. Hungry.

BRUNETTE (V.O.)
That’s my girlfriend.
Felina Bella Donna.
Met her on my last case.
Part-time dominatrix,
full-time agent for
Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
A lethal cocktail of brains,
beauty and bullets.
Shaken, not slurred.

Brunette pulls back. Wicked grin.
Grabs Felina’s hand, pulls her toward the bar.
They sit. Grab their drinks.

BRUNETTE (V.O.)
The name’s Carrie. Carrie Love.
I’m a private dick. A chick for hire.
You got the crime, I’ll do the time.
(beat)
For a price.

GUNSHOTS ring out. BANG. BANG. BANG.

Carrie WHIRLS around.
WHIPS OUT her gunmetal-blue 357 MAGNUM.

CARRIE (V.O.)
Oh, almost forgot.
(beat)
I carry a gun.

The music stops. PANDEMONIUM.
SCENESTERS race for the exit.

AT THE BACK BAR
A LARGE HISPANIC MAN has a
GORGEOUS BLACK GIRL by the throat.
SHOVES his gun in her crotch.

LARGE HISPANIC MAN
Fuckin’ BITCH. You fuckin’ TRICKED ME.

CARRIE
appears next to him.
Levels her piece against his head.

CARRIE
Put down the gun, Gazpacho.
Nice and slow. Or I splatter
your refried brains all over
your Saturday night fever-dream.

The fat man looks at Carrie.
Lip quivering. About to cry.

CARRIE
I said PUT -- THE GUN -- DOWN.

LARGE HISPANIC MAN
But, but --

CARRIE
But WHAT?

LARGE HISPANIC MAN
She, she -- tricked me.

CARRIE
Didn’t you know?
Half the cooze in this joint
is for hire.

LARGE HISPANIC MAN
I, I -- thought she
had a -- a dick.

CARRIE
(CLICKS the safety)
Aha, tranny chaser.
Hey. No big deal. Wait.
Let me guess.
But YOU’RE STRAIGHT?

The hulk deftly JAMS
his piece into Carrie’s side.

LARGE HISPANIC MAN
Thas’ right, CUNT.
Whattaya gonna do about it?

His head EXPLODES
like something out of Cronenberg.

Carrie leaps back,
covered in blood, brains.
DROPS her gun.

CARRIE
Fuck!

FELINA
stands across the now empty room.
Lowers HER 357 Magnum.

FELINA
You okay, baby?

CARRIE
Yeah. You?

FELINA
(nods)
When it’s time to say goodbye --
say it with bullets.

Take Me To The Dark Side

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 32 of LEGS, we reach the exciting conclusion of our story, where private eye Carrie Love and super-spy Felina Bella Donna KICK ASS ...


EXT. CLUB FUCK - ROOF - NIGHT
A military HELICOPTER hovers over the roof.
COMMANDOS fly down on cables like lethal puppets in black.

EXT. CLUB FUCK - FRONT ENTRANCE - CONTINUOUS
Dozens of FEDERAL AGENTS and SWAT COPS
prepare for battle behind blockades, shields, assault vehicles.

JOSH TOTT, the HIPSTER AGENT,
shouts into a bullhorn.

TOTT
Klaus Speer, this is the FBI!
We have the building surrounded!
Come out with your hands up
and no one will get hurt!
I repeat -- this is the FBI!
Everyone please exit the premises IMMEDIATELY!

INSIDE THE CLUB
the music dies. Floodlights snap on.
The crowd freezes, in shock.
They panic, SCREAM. Stampede for the exits.

OUTSIDE THE CLUB
a tidal wave of leather, chrome and rubber rushes out.

IN THE STUDIO
the Bagger raises his wrists, Christ-like.

THE BAGGER
I haven’t had this much fun
since brunch at Jeff Dahmer’s place.

And, fast as a whip -- so fast we almost can’t see it --
38 Specials FLY OUT from his cuffs -- SLAP into his palms.

Bullets RIP into Valentine and O'Henry, who hit the ground.
The assassin kicks their bodies out. He SLAMS the door.

Speer and the Bagger face off, weapons drawn.
Klaus’ face is now distorted. Swollen. Darker.

KLAUS
It would appear to be a checkmate.

THE BAGGER
That's stalemate, you fucking immigrant.

One of Klaus' ears falls off. Hits the floor.

KLAUS
Huh?

He touches his hand to his head, looks at it.
Sees the blood.

THE BAGGER
Jesus, that's disgusting. Talk about a swelled head --
you look like that guy in "Scanners."
I warn you -- if your head explodes,
you better not fucking get any of it on me.

Carrie giggles. Riding the wave of toxic pleasure.

CARRIE
Hey look, it's Vincent Van Gogh.
(to Klaus)
Hey, Vinnie -- can you lend me an ear?

FELINA
Carrie, don’t provoke him!

KLAUS
Shut up! All of you!

CARRIE
looks at Felina. Gives the slightest of winks.
Felina nods.

CARRIE
Fellas. I thought we were gonna have a party.
We got two guys, two girls -- really good drugs --

THE BAGGER
narrows his eyes. Thinks a moment.

THE BAGGER
(to Klaus)
Is that door secure?

KLAUS
Secure? It’s a bunker, a fallout shelter, bag-man.
They're gonna have to fucking drop the big one to get in here.

They lower their guns. Look at the women.

KLAUS (CONT'D)
Go ahead, shut the bitch up.
Be the star of your own porno.

The Bagger smiles, loosens his belt.

THE BAGGER
Rape and pillage time.

Klaus goes to the camera.
The Bagger leers at Carrie.

THE BAGGER (CONT'D)
I'm gonna do you first -- you got bigger cans.

CARRIE
Fuck me, killer. Take me to the dark side.

KLAUS
zooms in. Focuses.

THE BAGGER
unbuckles his trousers.

THE BAGGER
That’s the idea, you fucking whore.
I’m gonna come -- and you’re gonna go.

Carrie eyes focus. A glimmer of fire.
She concentrates, and --

CLOSE ON --
The toe of her boot. A shiny steel blade FLIES OUT.
She JAMS it in the Bagger's crotch. He SCREAMS in pain.

CARRIE
Take THAT, mystery date from hell.
You’ve been voted OFF the island.

He doubles over, looks at Carrie, in shock.

She works her tongue, takes aim --
and SPITS her chemical weapon in his mouth. Gulp.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
A little something to end your plague,
you fucking jack-off.

SHOUTING MALE VOICE (O.C.)
In there!

A battering ram POUNDS on the door. It BUCKLES.
A tear gas canister FLIES down from an air shaft --

Hits the floor, starts BILLOWING SMOKE.
Felina RIPS her hands free from the cuffs.

CARRIE
How the hell did you do that?

She pulls out a tiny saw, starts on Carrie's cuffs.

FELINA
Trade secret.

KLAUS
pulls out a grenade. Smiles at Carrie and Felina.

KLAUS
Not so fast, women in peril -- time for a little plot twist.

CARRIE
(to Felina)
He’s bluffing.
(to Klaus)
Go ahead -- rock me, Amadeus.

He pulls the pin. Shakes his head.

KLAUS
Stupid bitch. Falco was Austrian.

An earth-shattering EXPLOSION rocks the studio.

EXT. CLUB FUCK - BACK ALLEY - NIGHT
A dumpster rattles. The lid slowly opens.
Carrie starts to crawl out. She's a battered mess.
A beam of light flashes on her. It's JOSH TOTT.

TOTT
Holy shit. Are you alright, Miss?

She slips over the edge. Hits the ground.

CARRIE
Ow. Fuck.
(beat)
Yeah, I guess so -- nothing seems to be broken.

Carrie squints at the agent, his jacket.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
You're FBI? How OLD are you?

TOTT
A hell of a lot younger than YOU.

A standoff. The defensive -- and the damaged.

CARRIE
Hey, I'm sorry, okay?
I almost bit the dust back there.
Makes a girl a little cranky.

TOTT
I understand.
(beat)
I want you to stay here, okay?
Don't move. I'm gonna go get a medic.

He turns to go.

CARRIE
Hey, can I ask you a question?

TOTT
Maybe.

CARRIE
You guys worked with CO2 on this thing, right?

TOTT
I'm afraid that's classified information.

CARRIE
I know that. Hold on a sec.
This thing is killing me.

She slowly, heavily, unzips the front of her cat suit,
revealing her glistening cleavage in a black lace bra.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
God, does that feel good.

The agent takes in the view. Starts to thaw.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
I was working with agent Bella Donna.
Do you know her? Have you seen her?

TOTT
(impressed)
You mean 'the kitten with a whip?'

CARRIE
The one and only.

TOTT
She split. She was in a big hurry --
said something about taking a trip somewhere.

CARRIE
A trip?

TOTT
Stay put. I'll be right back.

He leaves. Carrie looks like she's going to collapse.
A light drizzle starts to fall. She starts walking.

INT. ASTON MARTIN - NIGHT
The rain softly hits the roof.
Carrie blows her nose.

CARRIE (V.O.)
I crack my first real case,
and everybody I want to celebrate with
is either dead or gone.
The cheese stands alone.
With no crackers.
(beat)
Sorry I don’t have a happy ending for you.
I bet a test audience would hate this part.
Can’t market the downer ending in the multiplex.
The chick sort of gets the bad guys --
but she doesn’t get the girl.
(a bitter laugh)
And it’s a girl.
Like that’s gonna play in Peoria.

She opens the glove compartment.
Takes out a flask.

CARRIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Our conflicted heroine bottoms out.
Spirals down into a black hole of
depression, self-loathing, self-destruction.
(beat)
McKenzie Phillips can play me in the Lifetime movie.

Carrie listens to the rain.
Coming down hard now.

She takes a long pull of her savior.
Pushes back burning tears.

Someone POUND-POUNDS on the driver's side window.
Fogged up.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
(muffled)
Hey! What are you doing in there?

Carrie rolls down the window.
It’s FELINA. Holy shit.

CARRIE
Felina? You --

FELINA
There you are.
I've been looking all over for you.

CARRIE
You have?

FELINA
You're kidding, right?
Hold on a sec, I'm getting fucking soaked.

She races around the car. Jumps in.
SLAMS the door.

FELINA (CONT'D)
Real London weather out there.
Don't miss it.

CARRIE
I, uh -- was, uh --

FELINA
Hey. You've been crying.

Carrie opens her mouth. Nothing.

FELINA (CONT'D)
Oh my god. Did you think I left?

CARRIE
(tiny voice)
They said you were going on a trip.

FELINA
(leans over, strokes her hair)
Well, I am. I got five weeks
vacation time coming to me.
(beat)
And I hear you've got this
smashing little bachelorette pad at the beach.

Silence. Total swoon.
And they kiss. Passionately.
Totally devour each other.

This is it, folks. The real thing.

Felina's knee hits a button on the dashboard.
The roof FLIES OFF.

THE CAMERA pushes up above the car,
the women going at it.

Carrie’s elbow SMACKS a panel on the steering wheel.
Clouds of smoke BILLOW OUT from the tailpipes.

A crowd gathers. FBI. SWAT. CLUB KIDS. A NEWS CREW.

Felina’s got Carrie on her back on the front seat.
No one else in the world.

Carrie’s boot CRACKS against the gear shift.
Knives CHING-CHING from the hubcaps.

The crowd BURSTS into applause.

THE CAMERA pushes higher, higher --
and a shield POPS UP from the trunk.
Machine guns FLIP OUT,
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT --
and the crowd SCREAMS, starts RUNNING.

CLOSE ON --
The car’s glove box.
Carrie GRABS IT for dear life.

CARRIE (O.C.)
God, yes -- rule Britannia.

In a throw of passion,
her wrist SLAPS a round black button.

ROBOTIC FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Ejection seat engaged. Good-bye.

Carrie and Felina exchange horrified looks.
The speaker box CRACKLES.

ROBOTIC FEMALE VOICE (CONT'D)
Activation terminated due to
short circuit from -- dampness.

CARRIE (V.O.)
And then, for the first time in my life --
(beat)
Getting laid saved my ass.

Only The Real Tuna Gets To Be Star-Fucked

Happy Thursday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 31 of LEGS, private eye Carrie Love and super-spy Felina Bella Donna are being held captive by snuff filmmaker Klaus Speer in his dungeon, when suddenly they get a visit from 'assassin to the stars' The Bagger ...

INT. KLAUS' BASEMENT DUNGEON - NIGHT
Carrie's eyes flicker. She fights the drug.

CARRIE
Why did you do it, Klaus?
What the fuck did Laura do
that put over the edge, huh?
Was it because she left you?
I can't believe a big, Teutonic stud
like you would freak out over
losing a little snatch.

FELINA
Carrie, I don't think --

CARRIE
Shut up! I wanna know!
I was just living my life,
doing my job, catching a few bad guys,
fucking up a few marriages,
fucking my chick -- and this fuck,
this Nazi prick has to fucking
CUT OFF her fucking head!
I wanna know WHY.

Klaus wipes his forehead.
His skin is darker. Mottled.

KLAUS
You women think you're so smart.
That you're better than us.
That you have power over us --
because you control when we have sex.
(beat)
Well the joke's on you, Miss Legs.
I bet you had no idea.

CARRIE
No idea of what.

KLAUS
No idea.

CARRIE
No idea of what.

KLAUS
You sure you want to know?

CARRIE
Tell me, you fucking stormtrooper!

KLAUS
You really sure?
I don't think you could handle it.
No, no, no -- you freak out, that's for sure.

CARRIE
(quiet)
Just tell me. Please.

KLAUS
Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you.
(with relish)
Well, you see -- the funny thing is,
your little Laura?
(beat)
Used to be called LARRY.

He makes a “snip-snip” motion at his crotch.

CARRIE
How the hell did you know about that?

KLAUS
Sorry, Carrie.
Only the real tuna get to be star-fucked.

CARRIE
So that’s why you flipped out.
You’re not the cutting edge of kink,
you’re a just a garden-variety homophobe!

An urgent KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK at the door.

ZIVA (O.C.)
Klaus, it's me, Ziva! Open up!

KLAUS
This is not a good time,
my little petunia. Come back later.

ZIVA (O.C.)
Klaus! It's a fucking emergency!
That crackhead Roz grabbed the cash box,
and now he's up in the DJ booth with a gun!

KLAUS
(pulls out his piece)
I'll be right there!
(to the women)
You two stay put.
And don't forget the camera is rolling.
I'd hate to see this become a short subject.

He goes to the door. RIPS it open.
Ziva in the doorway.

ZIVA
Klaus, run! It's a trap --

A knife flashes. SLITS HER THROAT.
She falls with a THUD.

The Bagger appears.
Waving a red-smeared butcher knife.

THE BAGGER
Put 'em where I can see 'em, Speer.
And relax your sphincter muscles,
cause I'm coming in.

He licks blood off the knife.

THE BAGGER (CONT'D)
Mmm, low T-cell count. Delicious.

KLAUS
Norman. Now this is a pleasant surprise.
Please come in. I hope you're still not mad at me.

The Bagger sees the women. The set.
The camera. Walks around.

THE BAGGER
I'm sorry to disrupt your creative process,
Speer, but we're going on a little trip.

VOICE (O.C.)
Everybody FREEZE! You're under arrest!

VALENTINE
stands in the doorway.
With a pair of sawed-off shotguns.

VALENTINE
I swear, either one of you so much as fart,
and I'll fucking blow your dick off.

KLAUS
Why is everybody so preoccupied with my willy?

VALENTINE
Get on the fucking floor, now!

O’HENRY
appears next to Valentine.
With a pair of service revolvers.

O'HENRY
You heard the officer, DO IT.

They lie down.

VALENTINE
O'Henry, you motherfucker.
Glad you could make it.

O'HENRY
Hey, what are partners for.
(beat)
I finished the puzzle.