Wednesday, August 3, 2011
The Butler Did It
Hey there, crime kids. Happy Wednesday. 'Hump Day,' right? 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 LEGS, private eye Carrie Love and super-spy Felina Bella Donna escape to a safe house in the Hollywood Hills, where they meet Felina's co-conspirator, 'B,' who will assist them on their mission ...
EXT. MANSION - FRONT DOOR - NIGHT
An imposing faux-Tudor monstrosity
that would do Rupert Murdoch proud.
Carrie and Felina huddle in the doorway.
Felina rings the buzzer.
Nice safe house. Where's the butler?
Hey, having a license to kill
doesn't mean you can't live a little.
A British-accented MALE VOICE
crackles over the intercom.
MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Who the blazes is it? Can’t you read?
No solicitors! I don’t want to hear “the good news!”
(into the speaker)
B, it's me -- your wayward temptress.
My stars -- Felina.
What a delightful surprise.
I’m sorry if this is a bad time --
but I’m afraid it’s not a social call.
It never is -- is it.
Right, then. Security clearance?
(thinks, then -- )
Tony Blair sends an invitation
to join him at tonight’s command performance
of “Puppetry of the Penis.”
Please give my sincere apologies.
Tonight I’m seeing “The Vagina Monologues”
with Mr. Bush. Box seats.
Better your box than mine.
Not my Bush.
Edgar will be right down.
Interesting passwords, agent Bella Donna.
Speaking of interesting --
She leans over.
Gives Carrie a long, lingering kiss.
INT. FOYER - FRONT DOOR - CONTINUOUS
EDGAR (70), the butler,
opens the door with a gloved hand.
Sees the women necking.
Shakes his head. Wistful.
Young love. Enchanting.
The lovers pull apart. Busted.
Good evening, Edgar.
This is my associate, Carrie Love.
Hey, there. Nice ascot.
Welcome to Goldenrod, Miss Love.
That's our special agent,
combining business with pleasure.
Felina flashes a shit-eating grin.
Please, follow me. He's expecting you.
INT. MANSION - MAIN CORRIDOR - CONTINUOUS
Edgar leads Carrie and Felina down a long, long corridor.
This place is amazing.
And the government pays for it?
Of course not, darling.
B has a great cover.
He's rolling in it.
Don't tell me -- he's a lawyer?
I'm afraid it's worse.
He's an agent.
INT. B'S DEN - NIGHT
Very manly, very aristocrat.
Coat of arms, the works.
Straight out of Masterpiece Theatre.
B, (55), a tanned, Brit Bob Evans type,
rushes to greet Felina. Beaming. They hug.
Felina, darling. Such a pleasure.
You look divine, as usual.
It's been too long, B.
When was the last time I saw you --
that thing in Oklahoma City?
Felina. How could you forget
the fun we had in Brentwood.
Of course, the double murder --
the football player.
B turns his attention to Carrie.
Drinks her in.
Ah-ha. And this must be
the detective, Miss Carrie Love.
He takes her hand. Kisses it, elegant.
You make me blush.
Felina warned me about you.
Your reputation is only exceeded
by your charm.
And your charm is only
exceeded by your -- legs.
EXT. LIMOUSINE - NIGHT
A mini-skirted pair of legs
slide out the rear of a limo.
EXT. QUEENS ROAD - NIGHT
Valentine's car roars by the limo.
The gams SHOOT back in.
INSIDE THE CAR
a WOMAN lays on the lap
of a grey-haired SUIT.
INT./EXT. - VALENTINE’S CAR - CONTINUOUS
Valentine punches the gas.
Climbs a winding road uphill.
INT. B'S DEN - NIGHT
A fireplace crackles.
Edgar pours champagne.
Carrie and Felina sit on the sofa
in matching black leather catsuits.
Well, this would normally be the scene
where I fill you in on the
villain's back story, his motivation --
fill in all the holes in the plot.
Exposition, if you will.
Carrie's eyes shine.
But I'm afraid I can’t do that, my dear.
I don't know what the fuck is going on.
It's safer if he doesn't know anything.
He's here for safety, support --
and really cool weapons.
At your service.
Not to mention really severe evening wear.
Don't get me wrong, it's a fab Gautier knock-off --
but it feels like a lead suit.
That's because it is.
From what Felina has told me
about your date for the evening,
this would seem to fit the dress code.
And now it's a double date.
B’s eyes dart a question.
Klaus Speer -- and the Bagger.
His champagne glass flies out of hand. CRASH.
Yeah, the hit man. You know him?
B turns white.
Felina looks at Carrie.
He was responsible for the
Twentieth Century’s Greatest Hits --
but other people always got the credit.
Lee Harvey Oswald, Sirhan Sirhan,
James Earl Ray --