Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Hey there, crime kids. Happy Wednesday. Or, as some people like to say, 'hump day.' But then, since I don't work a 9-to-5 day job, who gives a shit.
Enough fucking around. 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 18 of WILSHIRE BOULEVARD, private eye Carrie Love tries to pick up the pieces after her home burned down. Meanwhile, TV-movie producer Roland Yavo, upset that his son 'Nikki' appeared in a tranny porn, officially disowns her ...
EXT. MUNICIPAL BUILDING - PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Landon and Jenny sit in Carrie’s Olds.
Landon, behind the wheel.
Jenny, in the back seat.
Shivering in short sleeves.
Japan’s brittle, decayed cover of
The Velvet Underground’s
ALL TOMORROW’S PARTIES
softly plays on the car stereo.
Carrie comes up to the passenger side.
Carrie. Are you okay?
You came, too?
I -- don’t have a ride.
And I wanted to see if you were okay.
Thanks, guys --
She walks around the car.
Gets in beside Landon. Stares.
Let’s go get you cleaned up.
That would be -- nice.
(looks at her watch)
We’ve got just enough time
before I have to leave for the airport.
You’re -- leaving, too?
Didn’t I tell you?
I got a part in the new Scorcese flick.
‘Sleazy B-movie actress No. 2.’
PUSH IN ON Carrie. Weak smile.
Glad to see you weren’t -- typecast.
EXT. OCEAN AVENUE - AT THAT MOMENT
The purple, swinging acid jazz of
Groove Nation’s GET THIS
percolates and bubbles over --
A riot of red, orange and yellow
smears the sky above crashing waves.
Wind WHIPS through the fifty-foot palms.
A sleek, black Lexus coupe
ROARS down the coastal boulevard.
INT. YAVO’S LEXUS - MOVING - CONTINUOUS
Yavo DOWNSHIFTS at a yellow light
at the Malibu Canyon pass.
Stops at the red.
Shouts into his hands-free cell.
I got a call from your DIRECTOR.
SPLIT SCREEN WITH:
INT./EXT. NIKKI’S JAGUAR - MOVING - CONTINUOUS
Nikki’s stuck in traffic on the 405.
Puffs fiercely on an ultra-long, thin cigarette.
Cell phone clamped to her ear.
Yeah -- the sleazebag that shot
the tranny porno you STARRED in.
Listen, I can explain --
it’s a student film, it’s --
Shut the FUCK up and LISTEN. T
he creep set up a MEETING
with me using YOU as bait,
and now he’s trying to BLACKMAIL me!
But, but --
No BUTS -- except maybe YOURS.
This freakshow of yours has
crossed over into my BUSINESS.
changes to green.
Yavo STEPS ON IT.
I’ve HAD IT with you.
You’re outta my house, outta my will,
and I’m NOT paying for college.
You’re ON YOUR OWN, Nancy-boy.
No, please -- let me EXPLAIN.
I told you to SHUT THE FUCK UP.
You are DEAD to me.
He GROWLS. GRABS the cell off his ear.
FLINGS IT into the dashboard -- CRACK.
EXT. CARRIE’S CAR - MOVING - A LITTLE WHILE LATER
The ghostly blue twang of Chris Isaak’s TALK TO ME.
Carrie drives with the top down.
She’s cleaned up, wears Landon’s
biker chick threads. Looks haunted.
She take a swig from a pint bottle
of brown. Eyes burning.
Jenny sits on the passenger side.
Watching Carrie intently.
I’ll keep an eye out for cops.
Good idea --
driving on a suspended license --
Really? Maybe I should --
Have a hit of that.
Carrie passes the bottle to her.
Jenny takes a long pull.
Hands it back.
(takes a sip)
So where does Yavo shack up
when he’s in town?
You want to see him now?
It’s kinda late.
(hands her the bottle)
I want to ask him a few questions.
(takes it, sips)
He’s at the Hotel California,
on the beach. It’s nice. Quaint.
I stayed there once.
(hands the bottle back)
You know -- it’s right near Chez Ray.
Across the street, down about a block.
Carrie HITS the brakes.
The tires SCREECH.
She TURNS THE WHEEL.
The whale ROCKS, SKIDS --
And FISHTAILS into a U-turn.
Learned that move from Mannix.
So where are we going?
The Hotel California.
To drill Yavo.
And I’m -- coming along?
PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Drains the bottle. Tosses it.
I don’t feel like being alone --