Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Smash And Grab
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 HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, unemployed screenwriter & wanted fugitive Friday Foster gets into a fist fight with her former boss at the think tank ... just as mercenary for the Israeli mob Bland Loosner arrives in the underground garage to try and capture her. But first, Bland has to deal with the cops ... while Friday hides in her car ...
INT. LAMBERT INSTITUTE - CORRIDOR - DAY
Friday turn a corner into an area
with offices along one wall.
Big glass windows.
Two ASSISTANTS look up.
You know what they say,
whatever doesn’t kill you --
makes you even more fucked up.
(sees the assistants)
Beverly, Fran -- how’s it shakin’?
They squeeze all the blood
from your stones yet?
BEVERLY, (60’s), surgically altered in Chanel,
red collagen lips in a permanent grimace,
nods like a bobblehead doll.
Friday, Hi --
FRAN, schoolmarmish, ‘hip’ in designer specs,
skinny with a belly, almost SHRIEKS.
FRIDAY. What are you doing --
Here at the think tank?
Well, let’s just say that
my self-esteem got a bit too high,
and I thought it might be a good idea
to climb back up on the cross for a bit.
Do the martyr thing again.
Whattya think? Sound good?
Ha ha ha ha ha --
Now, if you’ll excuse me,
I’m here for my eleven-o’clock meeting
with a rascally little JEW-BASTARD.
Friday salutes, walks over to a dimly lit office.
PUSHES the door open. HOLLERS --
Dann Israel. How THE FUCK are ya?
(50’s) looks up from his computer.
Beady eyes blink behind thick glasses.
Once rugged, now shrivelled.
But still bulky.
Friday. Hello. What are you -- ?
Friday WHIPS OUT the MAGNUM.
Aims it at him.
That’s the question of the hour,
you little FUCK.
I’m here to get revenge.
A pound of flesh. Some kicks.
Are you ready to play ‘spin the Ph.D.?’
Put the gun down, Friday.
Let’s talk about this.
No. Shut THE FUCK UP
and for once in your
pompous little life LISTEN TO ME.
You worked me to the bone
like a FUCKING DOG.
Well, now it’s payback time, bucko.
Karma comes back, and this time
she’s a pissed-off BITCH.
Now get down on the floor
and spread ‘em, motherfucker.
It’s apology time.
And like something out of
a martial arts movie,
Dann LEAPS UP and LUNGES at Friday.
They TUMBLE to the floor.
GRAPPLE for the gun.
No, Goddammit --
Dann tries to put Friday in a CHOKE HOLD.
Friday JABS her elbow into his rib cage.
She FLIES away.
Rolls on the floor. LEAPS UP.
GRABS Dann’s Nobel Prize.
THROWS it against the wall.
SMASH. Glass SPRAYS.
Whoops. Hope you have insurance --
Friday hears something.
Turns, looks, sees --
A PAIR OF ANGRY SECURITY GUARDS
running toward her,
far away down the long corridor.
(as she runs out the door)
There will NEVER
be peace in the Middle East!
Friday races down the opposite corridor.
She reaches a door marked EMERGENCY EXIT.
SLAMS the door open.
A SIREN starts WAILING --
INT. LAMBERT INSTITUTE - REAR ALLEY - MOMENTS LATER
Friday races into the alley.
Stops. Looks behind her. No one.
Smash and grab. Too easy.
She runs to the end of the alley.
Cars WHIZ past.
Then, just as she’s about to
casually step into the crowd --
Shit. My stuff -- the car.
INT. LAMBERT INSTITUTE - PARKING GARAGE - AT THAT MOMENT
The alarm SHRIEKS.
Bland pressed against the wall.
Inches toward the Sentra.
Looks around. Tip-toes up to it.
A SWARM OF SECURITY GUARDS
race into the garage.
points the Uzi at them.
CLICKS the trigger. Nothing. Jammed.
WHIP out their guns.
Start FIRING at him.
runs to his SUV, JUMPS IN.
TEARS ASS out.
FLIES up the ramp.
Tires SCREECHING. Just as --
A TRIO OF SQUAD CARS
race down the incline.
Right at him.
JAMS the truck into gear --
and PLOWS THROUGH THEM.
INT. LAMBERT INSTITUTE - PARKING GARAGE - MOMENTS LATER
Friday creeps into the garage.
Shouting in the distance.
Creeps over to the Sentra.
Opens the door. Crawls in.
EXT. MARINA DEL REY - BEACH CONDO - ROOF - AT THAT MOMENT
Zvi lies on a chaise
getting a massage from Nymphet.
He adjust his hands-free cell.
WHAT did you say?
SPLIT SCREEN WITH:
EXT./INT. BLAND’S SUV - MOVING - CONTINUOUS
Bland SWERVES through traffic
on Ocean Avenue going south.
A CLUSTER OF SQUAD CARS follow.
There were cops
all over the fuckin’ place.
You said Santa Monica was LIBERAL.