Friday, August 5, 2011
Slow Dance With The Devil
Hey there, crime kids. Happy 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 27 of LEGS, the shit hits the fan when private eye Carrie Love and super-spy Felina Bella Donna chase after demented German snuff filmmaker Klaus Speer in the Hollywood Hills. Meanwhile, Klaus hitches a ride with a certain notorious auteur ...
EXT. B'S DRIVEWAY - NIGHT
The Aston Martin takes off.
He's on the run. People are after him.
And he's going to Club Fuck? Why?
So he can give one last spanking?
Darling, he owns the place.
That's where he does postproduction.
INSIDE THE CAR
How could I be so thick?
It was right in front of my fucking face.
Felina lights two smokes.
Hands one to Carrie.
Carrie takes a long drag.
Smiles sadly at Felina.
Come on, tell me. What is it?
Laura told me she was dating
the owner of Club Fuck, but she broke it off --
When she met me.
EXT. KLAUS' GARAGE - PRODUCTION STUDIO - CONTINUOUS
Valentine draws his gun. Starts up the stairs.
guns the engine. RIPS the vehicle into reverse.
hears the car. Runs back down.
IN THE DRIVEWAY
tires SQUEALING, the Land Rover SMASHES a mailbox.
Valentine TEARS down the driveway after it.
EXT. PRIVATE ROAD - GATE - CONTINUOUS
The SUV RAMS the sedan. CRUNCHES it like an accordion.
Peels off down the road.
Valentine RUNS after it.
speaks into his wristwatch.
Hello, Mary Lou? We have a problem.
kicks the tire of his ruined car.
A floodlight FLASHES on.
A WOMAN'S voice pierces the air.
What the fuck is going on out there?
Police business, Ma'am.
MORGAN FAIRCHILD appears.
Do you know what fucking time it is?
Well, hello there, officer.
Is everything okay?
Is there anything I can do to help?
EXT./INT. LIMOUSINE - NIGHT
Klaus leans in the window.
Or did I catch you at a bad time.
He clicks the safety on his Ruger.
No, not at all, please, get in.
Just don't shoot me, man,
please don't fuckin' shoot me.
Klaus climbs in.
Jams the weapon under the driver's chin.
We're gonna take a left at the turn
and go down the hill.
And no monkey companies, got it?
M-monkey business? I'm cool, I'm cool.
The partition separating the back compartment slides down.
Smooth, 70's soul music softly THUMPS.
SITTING IN THE REAR
are QUENTIN TARANTINO and HARVEY WEINSTEIN.
They hold cocktails and cigars.
What are you fucking doing,
buying girl scout cookies?
We're gonna be late for the screening!
They see Klaus, and the gun.
Great, asshole, just great.
Don't you know not to pick up hitchhikers,
especially in the fucking hills?
Let me guess.
You've written a screenplay.
Klaus points his gun at the men,
Shut the fuck up, boy wonder.
This is isn't one of your stupid movies.
Now listen, you little punk.
Do you know who the fuck I am?
I'm Harvey Weinstein!
I buy and sell scumbags
like you for breakfast!
I fucking slow dance with the devil!
Sorry fat boy, you have to talk to my agent.
Klaus SHOOTS the driver in the head,
turns around, GRINS.
Weinstein and Tarantino are in SHOCK.
He leans over, opens the door,
SHOVES the body out.
Not bad for a cold reading, huh?
EXT. GARAGE - NIGHT
Valentine backs up a shiny yellow Excaliber convertible.
You sure I can’t come with you?
It’s against the law, Miss Fairchild.
I could lose my badge.
By the way, Miss Fairchild?
Please. Call me Morgan.
Morgan. You know those Old Navy ads?
Sure -- you like them?
That old lady with the big glasses?
She’s fucking hysterical.
Makes me bust a gut every time.
EXT. QUEENS ROAD - NIGHT
The Aston Martin cruises downhill.
INSIDE THE CAR
Carrie downshifts with a vengeance.
It's not Club Fuck tonight, you know.
Shit, that's right, I forgot.
What is it tonight?
Where all your dreams come true.
She giggles. Carrie arches an eyebrow.
Oh? And just what sort of dreams,
agent Bella Donna?
Women of mystery -- with a little surprise.
I believe here in the States you call them --
'chicks with dicks.'