Tuesday, December 6, 2011
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 LITTLE GIRL BLUE, it's Christmas Eve at the Fantasy Island strip club, where wannabe dancer Blue Wonder meets private eye Carrie Love at the bar ... where more than sparks fly ...
INT. FANTASY ISLAND GENTLEMAN'S CLUB - NIGHT
Marilyn Manson’s THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, LOUD, over --
The club. Dark, with a bar running along one wall.
A handful of CUSTOMERS on stools.
A couple of DANCERS lounge at the end, chatting.
Christmas decorations look odd, out of place.
The BARTENDER cleans a glass, watching -
On it, GOTHIKA (18), pale, skinny --
and, you guessed it -- totally goth,
is working the pole.
Down to her black G-string.
Pierced nipple rings
glistening in the pin-spot.
She looks great, if you like that
But she’s jacked up on something --
speed, maybe PCP -- and it’s making her
move more like a stormtrooper than a stripper.
Even the Santa hat doesn’t help.
THE FRONT DOOR
Opens. In walks Blue.
She’s made up her face.
And scared to death.
She walks over to the bar.
Tentative in platforms.
Sits precariously on a stool.
Bartender glides over. Pounces.
Here for the contest?
Uh -- yeah.
Name your poison. On the house.
A Heinekin and a shot, please.
He turns to get her drink.
FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Woman after my own heart.
Blue turns, looks, sees --
On the stool next to her.
Rakish in jeans, white t-shirt
and motorcycle jacket. Ponytail.
Naughty red lips.
Bright blue eyes full of secrets.
What momma warned you about.
Shot and a beer. Simple.
Uh -- yeah.
(offers hand to shake)
Carrie Love. Just making small-talk.
I would imagine you’re a bit nervous.
(takes it, shakes)
Hi. Yeah. Thanks. I’m -- Blue.
Blue? I would have figured you
for a Becky or a Susie. Heather, maybe.
Parents are old hippies.
Jerry Garcia, eat your heart out.
The bartender places the beer and shot
in front of Blue.
Carrie pulls out a money clip.
Peels off a fifty. Tosses it.
Leave the bottle. Keep the change.
Bartender gives her a look.
Takes the bill. Glides away.
Carrie fills her shot glass.
Raises it in a toast.
Blue raises hers. They CLINK.
Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.
They down them. Grab their beers.
Take a swig. Smile.
So -- you’re not a dancer --
(pours two more)
Hell, no. I’m a dick.
Carrie does her shot.
Blue follows. Staring.
(pours two more)
Private dick. You know, missing persons.
Cheating spouses. Serial killers.
Cat stuck in a tree. The usual.
You’re a private detective?
The song ends.
The DJ’S Voice BOOMS over the sound system.
Give it up for GOTHIKA, fellas.
Wasn’t she AMAZING?
A smattering of half-hearted applause.
(raises her shot)
To Gothika --
They down them.
Carrie pours two more. They toast.
Blue NODS. They both SLAM THEM.
OILY DJ (O.C.)
Up next, we have the lovely MISS BLUE.
Shit, that’s me.
She hops off the stool.
Pulls a CD out of her bag.
Wish me luck.
Luck has nothing to do with it.
Not with that chassis.
Blue grins. Turns to go.
Stops. Looks at Carrie.
I’d like to talk to you about something.
You gonna stick around?
Consider me stuck.
Blue smiles. Trots off toward the stage --