Opiate Of The Masses

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 HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, it's a 'Friday cliffhanger' when fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster arrives at White Line Pictures armed to the gills, ready to get revenge. Meanwhile, mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener is hot on her tail, right across the street ...


EXT. ROBERTSON BOULEVARD - MORNING
Friday steps off the coffee shop patio,
turns left.

Starts walking south.
On a mission.

UP THE BLOCK
Bland comes FLYING
down the sidewalk
toward the intersection.

A SUIT
saunters toward the corner.
Talking on his hands-free.

SUIT
Listen to me.
Ashton Kutcher was BORN
to play ‘Young Orson Wells’ --

Bland CRASHES into him, BANG.
The bike goes FLYING.

The suit CRACKS
against a telephone pole.
Hits the ground.
Out cold.

Bland gets up.
Brushes himself off.
People stop. Stare.

BLAND
What are you looking at?
At ease, go about your business.

He pulls the PDA
out of his pocket.

Looks at the blinking light.
Sees up ahead --
the coffee shop.
Takes off.

UP THE BLOCK
Carrie’s wheels come
flying down Robertson.

The Vespa close behind.

A DOG
runs into the street.

KELLY
sees it.
SLAMS on the brakes.
SCREECHING rubber.

KELLY
Move, doggie!

CARRIE
tries to stop, but
POPS A WHEELIE instead,
and IN SLOW MOTION
flies through the air --
and HITS the car’s
rear window, CRASH.

Glass SPRAYS like water.
The back half of the Vespa
sticks out the rear window.

Carrie lies on the roof.
Dazed. She jumps off.

Dashes to the passenger side door.
Gets in. Kelly stares. Open-mouthed.

CARRIE
Don’t say a word.
Just drive.

EXT. UPSCALE COFFEE SHOP - AT THAT MOMENT
Bland comes outside.
Looks around.

Carrie’s car pulls over to
the curb across the street. Parks.

KELLY
sees Bland.

KELLY
There he is.
Across the street.

CARRIE
(grabs the door handle)
C’mon, let’s go.

KELLY
Where do you get
all that energy?

CARRIE
I need -- to help her.

PUSH IN ON Carrie’s face.
Eyes wet. Determined.

EXT. WHITE LINE PICTURES - MORNING
Men Without Hats’ scary-surreal
cover of The Beatles’
I AM THE WALRUS crunches over --

Friday. Standing in front of the entrance.

FRIDAY
Goo-goo-ga-joob.

She SLAMS through the doors.
STOMPS through the lobby.

Behind the security desk,
MR. GEORGE smiles toothily at Friday.
Shiny, beaming Jamaican face full of joy.

MR. GEORGE
Meess Friday.
Nice to see yoo.
Yoo come for a visit?

FRIDAY
Screwy rabbit --
visits are for kids.

Mr. George stares at her.
Uncomprehending.

Carrie goes to the elevator bank.
Presses ‘up.’

FRIDAY
That’s right, I forgot.
You don’t watch TV, do you?

MR. GEORGE
No, ma’am. Ees all garbage.

FRIDAY
Opiate of the masses.
Dulling our nation’s senses.
One show at a time --

THE ELEVATOR DOORS
open. Friday walks over.
Steps in.

MR. GEORGE
Yoo okay, Miss Friday?
You acting kinda -- strange.

FRIDAY
(as the doors close)
I’m a stranger in a
strange land, George.

THE ELEVATOR DOORS
open. The sixth floor.

Where the big boys live.
Friday walks out.

Looks at a giant cardboard standee
of the studio’s action franchise.
‘DRIVE-BY 3.’

Two good-looking BLACK COPS
stand back-to-back.

Brandishing shotguns.
Grinning like the
archetypes they are.

FRIDAY
Move over, boys.
There’s a new
anti-hero in town --

The Pause That Depresses

Happy Thursday, 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 26 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster arrives at White Line Pictures to get revenge, but realizes she's fifteen minutes early, so she terrorizes a nearby Starbucks ...


AZT WEBSITE - AT THAT MOMENT
A headline: FEMALE STUDENT TERRORIZES TEACHER WITH GUN.

A still image in the video box.
We see the ANGRY LITTLE GIRL
we met earlier surfing YouTube in a classroom.

Standing at her desk.
Pointing a 9MM GLOCK at the teacher.
The image SPRINGS TO LIFE.

ANGRY LITTLE GIRL
Bonus points if you pee your FUCKING PANTS.

The teacher SCREAMS.

EXT. UPSCALE COFFEE SHOP - DAY
A despicable, over-priced hangout
for wannabe-trendies who
don’t have a clue about ambiance.
Style. Passion. Reality.

Friday walks up to the door.
Stops. Looks at her watch.

FRIDAY
Fifteen minutes to go.
(looks in the window)
Uch. The pause that depresses --

INT. UPSCALE COFFEE SHOP - CONTINUOUS
Friday bursts in. SLAMS the doors open.

FRIDAY
Greetings, fellow consumers.

People look up. Quizzical.
Except for a --

GOATEED POSEUR
at a table with his laptop.
Deep in his faux version of ‘thought.’

Sips his latte.
One-finger types on the keyboard.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
Like shooting fish in your pants.

She takes the table next to his.
Puts down her stuff.

Poseur’s phone RINGS.
He answers it.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
This outta be good --

GOATEED POSEUR
‘Lo. This is Tykey --

FRIDAY
‘Tykey?’

TYKEY
Oh, yeah --
it’s at Mark Wahlberg’s joint.
S’gonna be a blowout --

FRIDAY
'Joint?' Who the fuck
do you think you are, Spike Lee?
(off his look)
Yeah, you -- I’m talking to you.
Can you speak a little louder?
Cause I don’t want to miss
a SINGLE DETAIL about your
FASCINATING LIFE.

TYKEY
Excuse me.
This is a private conversation.

FRIDAY
No it’s not, not when you’re
fucking broadcasting it in a public place
for everyone to hear.
A ‘private conversation’ is at home,
or in the office --
but what you’re doing is
BOTHERING EVERYONE with your
STAR-FUCKING.

TYKEY
What is your problem?

FRIDAY
My PROBLEM is fucking POSERS like YOU,
showing off in public, PRETENDING
to write some PIECE OF SHIT studio CRAP,
when all you’re REALLY DOING
is trying to GET LAID.

TYKEY
Fuck you. Mind your own business.

She GRABS his laptop --

TYKEY (CONT’D)
Hey! Give that back!

FRIDAY
Hold on --
let’s just check this out --
(reads)
'Interior, dorm room.
A beer blast is raging.'
Pure shit, I knew it --
(punches keys)
Just let me -- erase this --
HA, done.

TYKEY
(leaps up)
You fucking CUNT!

Friday WHIPS OUT her piece.
SHOVES it into his crotch.

FRIDAY
WHAT did you call me?

TYKEY
Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!

FRIDAY
I asked you a QUESTION, asshole.
WHAT did you call me?

TYKEY
A -- 'cunt.'

FRIDAY
What did you say?
I can’t HEAR YOU.

TYKEY
A 'cunt,' okay? I’m sorry.
Please don’t shoot me.

FRIDAY
Nice vocabulary --
and you’re supposed to be a writer.
Prepare -- to meet -- your maker.
Eunuch time.

TYKEY
No, PLEASE.

A dark, WET STAIN forms
on his cargo pant shorts.

FRIDAY
Hey, you peed your pants.
Bonus points. You get to live.
(lowers the gun)
Thanks. That was fun.
(beat)
Silly rabbit,
I wouldn’t shoot Little Willie.
I know you think with it.

She turns to leave.

A CUTE CO-ED
stares, wide-eyed.
Cell phone clamped against her ear.
Whispering into it.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
Hey, Gidget.
Shut off your security blanket.
Can’t you see you’re being terrorized?

COED
(on the phone)
And she’s got a gun --

Friday marches over.
GRABS the phone.

SLAMS it on the floor.
STOMPS on it.
SMASHES it to pieces.

FRIDAY
Whoops. Conversatious interruptus.
God, that’s satisfying, GRRRRRR.
Cathartic.

She goes to the door.
Opens it. Turns, looks at them.

FRIDAY (CONT'D)
You’re all lemmings.
Empty victims of marketing
filling yourselves with shit.
(brightly)
Ciao, kids.
Time for my nine-o’clock.
Wish me luck --

The Bicycle Thief

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Hump Day. 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 HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster and gold-toothed rapper Lester bond in his Humvee as he helps Friday escape the carnage at the Chateau Marmont. Meanwhile, its the 'mother of all car chases' when suspended homicide dick Carrie Love pursues mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener through the streets of West Hollywood ...


INT. HUMVEE - MOVING - MORNING
The Clash’s POLICE AND THIEVES
reggae-punks the car stereo.

GANGSTA drives.
Friday ride shotgun.
Cradles an Uzi.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
I used to go by ‘The Game,’
but that asshole fucking stole it.
Should of copyrighted that shit.

FRIDAY
Well, you gotta come up with something else,
because ‘Lester’ doesn’t cut it.
(strokes the gun)
I love how this feels.
I’ll give you five-k for it.

LESTER
Five-k? That’s cost.
And that’s without ammunition.

FRIDAY
Okay, six, and a couple hundred for ammo.
All you have.

LESTER
Seven POINT FIVE -- and we have a deal.

She grins. They shake. Light up.
Friday looks at his smokes.

FRIDAY
Can I ask you a dumb question?

LESTER
You can ask. But I might not answer.

FRIDAY
Why do so many black people smoke menthols?

He stares at her a long beat.
Then BURSTS into laughter.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
C’mon, I’m not joking.

LESTER
(shrugs)
Most black folks are poor,
and they can’t afford to go on vacation,
so everything they do IS a vacation.
Everything has to be flavored
stronger, hotter, sweeter. Malt Liquor.
Flaming hot Doritos. Grape Soda.

FRIDAY
Buying lottery tickets --

LESTER
That’s gambling.
Another thing entirely.
File that under ‘ghetto behavior.’
(beat)
So what are you planning
to do with your bright, new shiny gun?
Rob the movie studio?

FRIDAY
Nah. There’s no money there --

LESTER
So why all the weapons?

FRIDAY
Let’s just say I’ve got a beef --
(a’la Dirty Harry)
And its time to fire up the grill.

LESTER
Hey. I like that.

FRIDAY
Like what.

LESTER
‘The Beef.’

FRIDAY
‘The Beef?’

LESTER
Yeah. Sounds -- meaty.

Pause.

FRIDAY
Nah.

He looks at her.

LESTER
Nah.

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - ALLEY - AT THAT MOMENT
The outlaw-swing of The Clash’s
THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN over --

Carrie. TEARING ASS
on foot down the cobblestones, reaches --

EXT. SANTA MONICA BOULEVARD - CONTINUOUS
Sidewalks mostly empty.
But a crush of CARS clog the street.
Rush hour minions on their way to normalcy.

Carrie STOPS. WHIRLS AROUND.
Looks, sees --

BLAND
sprinting down the sidewalk.
Reaching the next corner.

CARRIE
Hey, asshole!

Bland stops for traffic.
Sees a bicycle leaning against
the railing of a sidewalk cafe.

Pulls out his gun.
Shoots off the lock -- BANG.
GRABS the handlebars. HOPS on.

CARRIE
runs after him.
Sees his two-wheeled escape vehicle.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
The Bicycle thief! Somebody stop him!

BLAND
hears her. Turns around, pedalling.
Smiles, evil.

CARRIE
sprints. Hears a MOTOR GROWL.
Turns, sees --

A HOT CHICK
on a Vespa scooter.
Knapsack overflowing with books. UCLA.

CARRIE
runs up to the chick.
Waves her arms.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
Police, off the bike!
This is an emergency!

HOT UCLA CHICK
You’re not a cop. Fuck you.

CARRIE
Yes I fucking AM.

Carrie PUNCHES her in the jaw.
Coed slides off the bike.

She jumps on. Looks down.
Shakes her head.

CARRIE (CONT'D)
Kids these days.

HITS THE GAS, and TAKES OFF.

DOWN THE STREET
Kelly drives Carrie’s bomber. Fishtails.
HITS the curb. BANG. Barrels down the sidewalk.

KELLY
I’m going to die, I’m going to die --

CARRIE
weaves between the cars.

BLAND
pedals north on the sidewalk.

KELLY
hits a trash can. BANG.
Pedestrians JUMP out of the way.

CARRIE
looks to her left. Sees her car. Kelly.

CARRIE
What the FUCK do you think you’re doing!

KELLY
leans out the window.

KELLY
I’m chasing him!

CARRIE
So am I! Pull over!
You fuck up my car, I’m gonna kill you!

They reach an intersection. Stop.
Traffic pours by, blocking them.
Carrie POUNDS the handlebars.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
Eat me!

Bland WHIZZES by. Going south.

CARRIE (CONT’D)
There he goes! Down San Vicente!

KELLY
Let’s go!

CARRIE
How?

KELLY
Follow me! This is like the Bourne Identity!
I LOVE IT.

Kelly pushes the nose of the car into traffic.
A MINI COOPER BANGS into his rear fender.

CARRIE
Goddammit!

She turns the wheel, RAMS into the Mini.

MINI COOPER DRIVER
Hey!

CARRIE
Fuck you! You hit my car!

KELLY
leans out his window.

KELLY
Carrie! He’s getting away! C’mon --

He GUNS it, turns right, going south.

CARRIE
ZOOMS away, hot on his tail.

UP AHEAD
Bland pumps furiously on the bike.
Pulls a PDA out of his pocket.
Fingers the buttons. Looks at --

A MAP
of the area. A blinking RED LIGHT pulses,
a couple of blocks from a pop-up that reads
‘YOU ARE HERE.’

BLAND
looks to his right. A small, city PARK.
He turns, rides up on the grass.

Flies by a swing set and jungle gym.
Two CHILDREN swing on the swings.

BLACK KID
Look. Crazy man ridin’ on the grass --

CARRIE
on the Vespa, followed by Kelly
in her car WHIZ by.

HISPANIC KID
Shit. Look at that.

BLACK KID
Damn. I can’t wait until I can drive --

Let Sleeping Gangstas Lie

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.

I started this blog almost four years ago after I got laid off my nine-to-five job and started writing full-time. It's been a rocky road, but I've survived, and now have fairly big motion picture about to move forward. Believe it or not, this is my 1000th post. My, how time flies when you're living a life of crime. Thank you all for reading my serialized stories up to now. It's been a real treat to share my work with you, and I humbly thank you for your patronage.

In Chapter 24 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster makes her escape from the Chateau Marmont with the help of the gold-toothed gangsta in the bungalow next door. Meanwhile, the waitress she terrorized at the Venice Beach coffee shop appears on Howard Stern ... and suspended homicide dick Carrie Love tangles with mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener, who's hot on Friday's tail ...


EXT. BUNGALOW FIVE - TERRACE - EARLY MORNING
Friday climbs over the railing.
Walks over to Bungalow Six.

Raises herself up, and
climbs onto the terrace. Looks around.

FRIDAY
Should probably let sleeping gangstas lie.

INT. BUNGALOW SIX - EARLY MORNING
Friday tip-toes into the darkness.

A hulking FIGURE appears,
drinking from a gallon jug of milk.
It’s Gold-Tooth.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
What are the bloody fuck
are YOU doing here?

FRIDAY
Sorry to barge in,
but I gotta jailbait suicide
and a comatose security guard
back at my place,
and I didn’t think it would be
a good idea to stick around
for housekeeping.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
(impressed)
I understand.
(beat)
And you want to -- hide out here?

FRIDAY
Tempting, but I can’t,
I have an appointment.
Big pitch meeting.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
And what, you need a ride?

FRIDAY
Yeah. I’ll pay you
a hundred bucks a mile.
Plus gas.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
Cash?

FRIDAY
(tosses him a wad of cash)
Your tip. In advance.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
Madam, your carriage awaits.

INT. THE HOWARD STERN SHOW - AT THAT MOMENT
Howard sits at his console.
Leans into the mike.

HOWARD
Uh, Lux LeBon was the waitress that --

GARY DEL’ABATE, the producer,
escorts in LUX LEBON (25)
who we recognize as the
waitress at the Cracked Earth Cafe.

HOWARD (CONT’D)
There she is. WOW.
You are smokin’ HOT.
Look at the bod on YOU --

Lux sits on the couch.
Haughty in a Melrose Avenue minidress.

LUX
Hi, Howard.

HOWARD
You are the waitress that Friday Foster
threatened with a gun in the YouTube video.
It’s had over five million hits.

LUX
That’s me.

ARTIE LANGE
leans into his microphone.

ARTIE
She is SMOKIN’.
Who would want to point a gun at HER?

LUX
She said I was rude to her.

HOWARD
Were you? Rude to her?

LUX
Hell, yeah.
And thank fucking God.
Since that video went up,
my agent’s phone’s been ringing off the hook.
I just got my own fucking REALITY SHOW.

HOWARD
That’s great. What’s it called?

PUSH IN ON Lux. Big, Cheshire grin.

LUX
'Who Wants To Be A Bitch?'

EXT. WEST HOLLYWOOD - ALLEY - AT THAT MOMENT
Carrie’s piece-of-crap Olds
idles behind a strip mall.

INT. CARRIE’S CAR - CONTINUOUS
Carrie sits behind the wheel.
Kelly rides shotgun.

In the back is Bland,
hands cuffed in his lap.

On the car stereo, DJ Sammy’s
glistening trance-cover of CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’
punctuates the early morning light.

BLAND
What is this shit?

CARRIE
Don’t worry about it, listen to me --

KELLY
I like it. It’s kinda peppy.

CARRIE
I’m offering you a deal.
You help us find her,
and the charges will be dropped.
Help us -- before she gets in more trouble.

BLAND
It’s a sacrilege.
‘California Dreaming’
is a CLASSIC American song,
and now it’s all faggy and shit.

Carrie CRANKS the volume.

CARRIE
Do we have a DEAL?

Bland looks at his feet. Winces.
Shakes his head.

He LURCHES FORWARD, jerks the chain
around Carrie’s neck. CHOKING her.

BLAND
Turn it off! Turn it off!

Carrie GAGS. Her eyes BULGE.
She THRASHES against the seat.
Kelly shuts off the music.

KELLY
Stop it! Stop it!
You’re gonna kill her!

BLAND
Give me the gun! The gun, the gun!

Kelly GRABS it, gives it to him.

Bland RELEASE Carrie with a flourish.
She GASPS for air.

CARRIE
Uh, uh, uh, uh --

Bland CRACKS Kelly on the side of the head --

KELLY
Ow!

Swivels, KICKS OPEN the car door.
Hops out, and DASHES AWAY.

KELLY (CONT’D)
Criminy! There he goes!
(looks at Carrie)
Are you okay? Are you okay?
(beat)
My head, my head --
(feels it)
I’m bleeding.

CARRIE
Goddamit.

She uses all her strength,
PUSHES open the car door.
Gets out. Unsteady on her feet.

KELLY
Where are you going?

CARRIE
I’m gonna go fucking get him.
(reels, stops, looks at him)
Stupid ass. You gave him my gun.

KELLY
He was gonna strangle you.

CARRIE
That’s no excuse.

And she TAKES OFF --

KELLY
(rubs his temples)
I bet Woodward and Bernstein
never had to deal with all this folderol --

Bella Legosi's Dead

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. 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 23 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster's tryst at the Chateau Marmont with the underaged Dolly comes to a violent end, after which Friday gets into a brutal fight with hotel security ...


INT. BUNGALOW 5 - MAIN ROOM - EARLY MORNING
Sunlight streams in through half-shuttered blinds.
The remains of the party are strewn across the room.

Friday sleeps like the dead
on the big, thrashed bed.

We hear soft crying OFF CAMERA.
It stops. Something BANGS.
Friday stirs. Awakens. Groggy.

FRIDAY
Who’s there?

The crying starts again.
We realize it’s DOLLY.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
(sits up)
Who’s that?
(sees Dolly is gone)
Dolly?

She gets out of bed.
The sobbing gets louder.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
(goes to the bathroom door)
Dolly, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry --

SPLIT SCREEN WITH:

INT. BUNGALOW 5 - BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS
Dolly sits in her bra and panties on the tile floor.
Cradling Friday’s chrome Magnum like, well -- her dolly.

DOLLY
You’re SORRY.

FRIDAY
Dolly, I wanted to make love to you,
but I just couldn’t -- I --

DOLLY
Because loving me is a crime?

FRIDAY
No -- well, yes, technically --
but that’s not what I mean --
you’re still a child, a young woman, a --

DOLLY
I’m not a CHILD!
(quietly)
I’ve been having sex for ten years.

She starts crying again.
Now big, heaving SOBS.

FRIDAY
Dolly, please open the door.
Let’s talk about this.

DOLLY
No! I’m done talking! I’m leaving!
(very softly)
Bella Legosi’s dead.

Puts the barrel of the gun in her mouth.
Closes her eyes.

IN THE BEDROOM
Friday listens at the door. Panicked.

FRIDAY
What are you gonna do, kill --

She realizes. HER GUN.
She races to the bedside.
Frantically rummages through her bag.

It’s GONE.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
(runs to the door)
Dolly, no!

BANG.

Friday steps back.
Braces herself.
KICKS open the door.

DOLLY
lies on the floor next to the toilet.
Back of her head, brains, blood,
bits of skull all over the wall.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
I’ve just been cluster-fucked.

She pries the gun out of Dolly’s hands.
RACES INTO --

THE LIVING ROOM
and DASHES over to the TV.
PUNCHES it on. LOUD.

Frantically surfs channels until --
An 80’s ACTION MOVIE spews MACHINE GUN FIRE.

Someone BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANGS
on the door.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
Just a minute!

She composes herself.
Puts the gun in the small of her back.
Strides over to the door. To reveal --

A UNIFORMED SECURITY GUARD.
This guy makes Ving Rhames
look like a shrinking violet.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
We had a report of gunshots --
coming from this room.

FRIDAY
Yeah. Chuck Norris
just took out the Iraqui government.

He glances at the TV.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
Isn’t it a little early for action movies?

FRIDAY
I’m a casting agent, checking out Chuck.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
Yeah, right. Chuck Norris.

FRIDAY
I didn’t say I was A-list.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
(pulls out handcuffs)
Assume the position, bitch.

Friday walks backwards.
Toward where Dolly lies.

FRIDAY
I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
(coming toward her)
What you got in the bathroom, girlie -- a body?

FRIDAY
Don’t come any closer,
I don’t want to hurt you.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
Hurt ME?

He stops. LAUGHS. Shakes his head.
Unhooks his billy club.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
This is gonna be fun --
I haven’t used this on a bitch in a long --

Lightening fast,
Friday KICKS him in the jaw, CRACK.

He FLIES across the room,
SLAMS into the wall, THWUNK.

FRIDAY
Who you calling a BITCH?

Huge catches his breath.
Weaves a bit. Rubs his jaw.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
Fucking cunt --

Friday shadowboxes,
dances on the balls of her feet.

FRIDAY
Hey, no use of the ‘C’ word.
That’s uncalled for.

He LUNGES for her.
SWINGING his stick.

Friday feints right, swerves left.
He CRACKS into the dresser.
Drawers go FLYING.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
I’m gonna -- fuck you up.

Huge regains his balance.
Paws at the floor like a bull.

FRIDAY
Looks like you’re kinda
doing that to yourself.

He LUNGES, GRABS HER by the THROAT.
Friday GAGS.

He BANGS her head
against the wall, CRACK.

Friday struggles, kicks,
PUSHES his fingers backwards.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
GAAAH --

Enraged, he PUNCHES her in the face, CRUNCH.
Friday FLIES backward, HITS the wall. OOF.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)
Fucking CUNT.

FRIDAY
Great vocabulary.
Where’d you get your graduate degree?

He CHARGES her.
GRABS HER around the NECK.
SQUEEZES. HARD.

Friday fights for air.
Eyes BUG OUT, arms FLAILING.


She feels around, GRABS a lamp.
SMASHES IT on his head.

Huge swerves. Blinks.
Damn, this fucker is STRONG.

HUGE SECURITY GUARD
Fucking bitch. I’m gonna kill you.

FRIDAY
'Fucking cunt,' 'fucking bitch.'
That the best you can do, MANDINGO?

Huge RUSHES her.
She GRABS the bathroom door knob.

Just as he reaches her,
she steps to the side --
and SWINGS the door in his face, WHACK.

BANG. He crumples to the floor, THWUNK.
She grabs his ankles.

Drags him into the bathroom.
Quietly shuts the door.

FRIDAY (CONT’D)
Fucking asshole. Broke a nail.

Friday goes to the bed.
Stuffs her bag.

Grabs the briefcases.
Goes to the terrace doors.

FRIDAY (CONT'D)
Hope they don’t charge for early checkout --

Saved By The Bell

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 22 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, Pulitzer Price winner Dann Isreal appears on Fox News to discuss being attacked by fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster at the think tank. Meanwhile, Friday returns to her bungalow at the Chateau Marmont with Dolly, her 'catch of the day' ...


INT. NEWS STUDIO - NIGHT
BOB O’HENRY (50’s). Hawk-like.
Eyes blazing. Mouth an arrogant sneer.
Stares into the CAMERA. Scowling.

Sitting next to Bob is
Friday’s old friend DANN ISRAEL.

BOB
Our next guest is Dann Israel,
of the Lambert Institute.
A think tank.

DANN
(deer in kleig lights)
Hello, Bob. Nice to be here.
Thank you for having me.

BOB
The pleasure is all mind, Dann.
This is the first time we’ve had
a Pulitzer Prize winner on the show.

DANN
Well, it’s the first time
I’ve been on television,
so I guess we’re even,
heh, heh, heh --

BOB
So let’s get down to it, Dann.
How in the HECK did you let a
WOMAN overpower you?

DANN
I -- don’t understand.
I’m here to talk about
emerging global markets.

BOB
We’ll get to that.
But first, what America REALLY
wants to know is WHY Friday Foster
went on this rampage?
Can you shed some light on it?

PUSH IN ON Dann. Peeved.

DANN
I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her.

INT. BUNGALOW 5 - NIGHT
The door opens.
In comes Friday and her
catch of the day, DOLLY.
Both completely, utterly trashed.
Giggly.

DOLLY
This is nice.
Can I move in with you?

FRIDAY
One tryst at a time, luv.
This is a U-Haul-free zone.

They kiss. Friday pulls away.
Takes Dolly’s gloved hand.

FRIDAY
Come with me.

She leads her to the bed.
Dolly follows. Obedient.

FRIDAY
Sit. Make yourself comfortable.
(picks up the phone, dials)
Champagne?

DOLLY
(nods, eyes wide)
Can we get -- something to eat?

FRIDAY
A bedtime snack. GREAT idea.
Not that you’re not a bedtime snack --
(listens)
Yes, hello. Uh, hold on --
(beat)
What would you like?
Tuna tartar? Caviar?
Their pate is to die for.

DOLLY
(small voice)
Can I get a cheeseburger?

FRIDAY
You are adorable. GREAT idea.
Pre-hangover measures. What a pro.
(into the phone)
Yes, hi -- sorry, big decision time.
Could you please send up
a bottle of Cristal? AND,
two cheeseburgers --
medium rare, and --
(looks at Dolly, off her nod)
Both, medium rare. Please.
(beat)
You bet. Thanks.

She hangs up.
Goes to the bed. Sits.
Strokes Dolly’s hair.

FRIDAY
You have such beautiful hair.
Do you mind if I take it down?

DOLLY
No, Ma’am.

FRIDAY
(starts untying ponytails)
Silly girl, call me Friday.
I’m not a real dom,
I just play one on TV.
That’s just fun and games.

DOLLY
Okay -- Friday.

FRIDAY
Tonight isn’t a game, love.
You’re an angel -- and I’m honored
to share some heaven with you.
(quietly)
You’re my last supper.

She leans in.
Kisses Dolly softly on the lips.
Pulls back.

FRIDAY
So what do you do?
Are you in fashion, an artist --

DOLLY
I’m -- a student.

FRIDAY
Oh, what college?
Getting a graduate degree?

Pause.
DOLLY
I’m a sophomore at Hollywood High.

FRIDAY
How old ARE you?

DOLLY
Fifteen.
Please don’t be mad at me.

FRIDAY
Fifteen? You’re FIFTEEN?
How did you get in the club?

DOLLY
My daddy owns it.

A KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK at the door.

HISPANIC MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Room service.

FRIDAY
Saved by the bell.
(to the door)
Come in. It’s open.

DOLLY
Are you mad at me?

The HISPANIC WAITER
wheels in their repast. Smiles.

HISPANIC PORTER
Where would you like it?

FRIDAY
(looks at Dolly)
That’s a loaded question --
(to the porter)
Out on the terrace, please.

HISPANIC PORTER
Sure thing, Miss.

He eyes Dolly.
Pushes the cart out
through the patio doors.

DOLLY
You’re mad at me.
I can tell.

FRIDAY
I’m not mad at you.
(leans in, kisses her)
See?
(of Dolly’s nod)
C’mon. Let’s eat --

Last Call

Happy Thursday, 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 21 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, suspended homicide dick Carrie Love and investigative reporter Kelly Klavan watch fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster do an S/M demonstration on her 'girl toy' Dolly at Club Fuck in the 'Playroom,' but suddenly get interrupted when mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener starts shooting up the joint ...


INT. CLUB FUCK - PLAY ROOM - NIGHT
The decadent, subterranean croon of
David Bowie’s cover of GOD ONLY KNOWS
soars through the dark haze.

Plain brick walls
and a scattering of tables and chairs.

The crowd mingles, sip drinks,
like any cocktail party.

Carrie and Kelly
sit at a table in the back.

KELLY
So what’s the plan, Stan.
You gonna snap the cuffs on her?

CARRIE
If I arrest her, and it’s not Friday,
I’m afraid we’d be whipped to death.

ON STAGE
a platform, really --
A MASTER unshackles a SKINNY MAN in a jockstrap.
Tenderly takes his hand. Bows.

AS HE TURNS
we see criss-crossed red lashes on Skinny’s back.

FRIDAY
holds Dolly’s hand.
Pulls her to center stage.

Guides her over to a large wooden cross,
like a big ‘X’.

DOLLY’S EYES
flicker. Liquid. Innocent. Part fear. Part wet.

FRIDAY
places Dolly’s wrist on the wooden plank.

Into a shackle. CLICKS it shut.
Then the other. CLICK.

She slowly reaches up to the zipper
at Dolly’s throat.
Slowly unzips it down. Down. Down.

Revealing plain, girlish lingerie.
Pale, trembling skin.

Friday places Dolly’s left ankle
on the cross.

CLICKS the shackle shut.
Then does the right. CLICK.

She stops. Takes a red vinyl-gloved hand,
strokes Dolly’s calf.
Dolly SHUDDERS.

-- goes up, up Dolly’s leg.
Reaches her soft, milky thigh. Stops.

DOLLY
quivers. Bites her lip.
Closes her eyes.

A tear of pleasure trickles down. Yes.
Friday’s hand continues on it’s journey.

Reaches Dolly’s panties.
A small wet spot glistens.

Stops. Dolly’s hips buckle.
She can’t take it. Please.

A FETISH COUPLE watches.
Holding hands. GIRL dabs her eyes.
CARRIE stares. Repulsed. Scared. Turned on.

Gunshots POP! POP! POP!
A woman SCREAMS. Pandemonium.

Clubbers STAMPEDE for the exit.
But it’s LOCKED.

FRIDAY
Shit!

She quickly undoes Dolly’s restraints.
CLICK, SNAP, CLICK, SNAP.

GRABS Dolly’s hand.
Pulls her toward backstage.

FRIDAY
C’mon, baby, we gotta split -- last call.

IN THE ALLEY
a door BANGS open.
The women RACE outside.

THE LIMO
idles nearby.
The DRIVER starts to get out.

Friday GRABS the door.
Opens it. SHOVES Dolly inside.

FRIDAY
(to the driver)
Get back in, now!
We GOTTA GET OUTTA HERE!
Go, go, move, MOVE!

IN THE PLAYROOM
Bland stands in the entrance.
Door blasted off its hinges.
Points twin handguns at the petrified crowd.

BLAND
Don’t be alarmed.
I’m looking for someone.
And when I find her, you can all go. Unharmed.
(beat)
Perverted, but unharmed.

TWEEKER BOY
You wouldn’t dare.

Bland SHOOTS him in the foot, BANG.
The boy SCREAMS in pain.

Hits the floor.
Holds his boot, blood pouring out.

TWEEKER BOY
You fucking shot me!

BLAND
Try dancing now.

CLICK, CLICK.

CARRIE
points her Glock against Bland’s temple.

CARRIE
Put the guns down, you ugly fuck.
Or else all you’re gonna hear
is the wind whistling through your empty,
‘be all you can be’ head.

Bland drops ‘em.

KELLY
watches, in awe.

KELLY
This is like out of a movie.

CARRIE
Shhh.

Bland takes advantage of the moment,
and in a BLUR OF SPEED,
GRABS Carrie and Kelly’s heads
and SMASHES them together.

He grabs his guns off the floor,
races backstage.

Carrie leaps up.
Unsteady on her feet.

CARRIE
Whoah. Head rush.

EXT. CLUB FUCK - BACK ALLEY - NIGHT
Bland JUMPS on his motorcycle.
KICK-STARTS the engine.

It ROARS to life.
He takes off in a SQUEAL of rubber.

CARRIE
runs outside. Chases after the bike.

CARRIE
Come BACK HERE!

And, like some marathon sprinter,
she catches up.

LEAPS in the air. GRABS him, and --

The bike, Bland and Carrie
skitter across the parking lot.
And BANG, into the side of a dumpster.

Carrie SOCKS Bland in the jaw.
BANG, he goes out.

She whips out handcuffs,
fastens him to the bike.

KELLY
appears. Rubbing his temples.

KELLY
Do you have any ibuprofen?

She rifles through Bland’s pockets.
Finds the PICTURE.

CARRIE
Holy shit.

KELLY
It’s her.

CARRIE
And it looks like she’s made
some pretty nasty enemies.

KELLY
Maybe he can lead us to where she is.

CARRIE
If we’re lucky.
(beat)
Or unlucky --

G.I. Jerk-Off

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Wednesday. 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 20 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, the plot thickens at Club Fuck, where suspended homicide dick Carrie Love finally finds who she thinks is fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster, but isn't sure, due to her perverted disguise. Meanwhile, mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener starts closing in on Friday ...


INT. CLUB FUCK - DANCE FLOOR - MOMENTS LATER
The catchy-taunting, industrial-electro sounds of
DJ Irene Rockstar’s remix of Book of Love’s BOY over --

THE CHICK-CLUSTER
shaking it with abandon.

Melting into the swirling crowd.
Dark flowers undulating in
a guitar forest of drum and bass.

ON THE SIDELINES
Carrie and Kelly watch the action.

KELLY
Let’s go get a cocktail.

CARRIE
No. We’re here to work.

KELLY
I’ll drink it from a bowl --

CARRIE
(SNAPS his leash)
Down boy.
Keep up with the wisecracks
and I’ll get you a choke chain.
(scans the crowd)
Everyone’s wearing some kinda costume --
(sees something)
Shit. There she is.
At least, I think that’s her.

FRIDAY
raises ecstatic hands in the air.
Pumping fists to the music.

CARRIE
pulls on Kelly’s leash.

CARRIE
Come. Walkies --

KELLY
Woof.

ON THE DANCE FLOOR
Carrie and Kelly start dancing
near Friday and her posse.

KELLY
You sure it’s her?

CARRIE
I think so -- it’s hard to tell
with the perverted superhero look.

Carrie fake-accidentally
rubs up against Friday.

CARRIE
Sorry -- Friday?

Friday whips around.
Looks at Carrie. Evil smile.

FRIDAY
Friday? It’s Saturday.
What are you on?
And do you have any extra?

CARRIE
I’m sorry, you look like an old friend,
her name is -- Friday.

FRIDAY
I’m her stunt double, darling.
I do all the dangerous drugs.

She WHIRLS AROUND,
and disappears into the crowd.

AT THE BACK BAR
Bland nurses a near-beer.
Chats up a BLACK DYKE DOM.

Real menacing.
If it weren’t for the
Mr. Magoo designer specs.

BLAND
So are you male or female?

BLACK DYKE DOM
You gotta be fucking kidding me.

BLAND
(hears her voice)
I’m sorry -- ma’am.
I just met someone who --
she was a -- I mean, he was --

BLACK DYKE DOM
It’s your first time, isn’t it?

Bland pulls out the photo.

BLAND
And probably my last.
I am looking for an old friend,
she’s in trouble --
(shows it to her)
Have you seen her?

BLACK DYKE DOM
That’s my girl on the six-o’clock news.
Mistress Bella Donna.
Knew she was bad, but not THAT bad --

BLAND
She come here often?

BLACK DYKE DOM
Hell, yeah. Not for awhile,
but she used to come every week.
She’s a major player.
(raises her glass)
Really happy to have her back.

BLAND
She’s here? Tonight?

BLACK DYKE DOM
(nods her head)
There she is. Over there --

FRIDAY
pulls Dolly through
a black door in the back.

BLAND
jumps off his stool.
As he does, his coat FLASHES OPEN.
Revealing his shoulder-holster.

BLAND
Thank you. Excuse me.

BLACK DYKE DOM
You can’t go in there yet,
it’s not --

But he’s off.
Dashes toward the door. Now closed.
Two BURLY PIERCED BOUNCERS stand guard.

DYKE
leans in toward the bartender.

BLACK DYKE DOM
GI jerk-off’s gotta piece.
Tell security.

CARRIE
leads Kelly into the room.

CARRIE
Goddamit. Where is she?
She was just here.

AT THE BACK DOOR
Bland pleads with the bouncers.

BLAND
It’s my sister,
I need to talk to her,
it’s a family emergency --

PIERCED BOUNCER
I’m sorry, invited guests only.

The other bouncer touches his ear.
Listens.

TRIBAL BOUNCER
Sir. I’m going to have to ask you
to open your jacket --

With lightning-speed,
Bland GRABS each bouncer by the head --
and BANGS them together, CRACK.
They look at him. Blink.

PIERCED BOUNCER
Ow. That kinda hurt.

TRIBAL BOUNCER
That wasn’t very nice.

The brutes GRAB Bland by the arms.
Take him away.

Carrie and Kelly
quickly slip through the door --

Spin The Nipple Clamp

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 19 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster, safely in disguise at Club Fuck, meets mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener on the dance floor for perverted games. Meanwhile, Friday's ex Carrie Love and investigative reporter Kelly Klaven arrive on the scene and get into disguise ...


EXT. CLUB FUCK - PARKING LOT - NIGHT
Behind the club.
Music THUMP-THUMP-THUMPS from within.

Carrie and Kelly stand
next to her beat-up Olds.

Carrie looks awesome in latex and chrome.
Hair teased up into a flock of seagulls.

Kelly, dashing in pressed jeans
and white silk t-shirt.
And hey, is that mascara?

CARRIE
This isn’t a Pet Shop Boys concert, Kelly.
I told you to dress pervy.
(sniffs)
And you’re wearing cologne? Uch.

KELLY
The wardrobe consultant at Dolce & Gabana
said this was very Antonio Sabato, Jr.
And I’m wearing ‘Jizzy,’
Alan Cummings’s signature scent.
It’s a bit sticky, but I find it bracing.

CARRIE
I have more testosterone than you.
At least your jeans are black.
(opens the trunk)
Time for a little 'roadside assistance.'

She pulls out a collar and leash.
Zorro mask. Black pumps.

KELLY
No way.

CARRIE
Yes, way.
If we don’t fit the milieu,
we aren’t getting into the play room.

KELLY
'The Play Room?'

CARRIE
That’s where the players play, Kelly.
And that’s where our girl is
gonna be playing ‘spin the nipple clamp.’

KELLY
What ever happened to -- Twister?

CARRIE
Welcome to the dark side, fella.

NEAR THE DANCE FLOOR
The greasy, swingin’ sounds of The Raveonettes’
LOVE IN A TRASHCAN over --

Bland scoping out the action.
A pair of JAPANESE ECSTACY CHICKS walk by.
Hot as hell in latex mini-dresses.

BLAND
Excuse, me -- ladies?

TALL JAPANESE CHICK
Hello.

ANOREXIC JAPANESE CHICK
You workout boy?
(to her friend)
Big, strong workout boy.

TALL JAPANESE CHICK
(giggles)
Can I feel your muscle?

BLAND
Okay.

He offers his arm.
Tall Chick squeezes it.

TALL JAPANESE CHICK
Nice -- muscle.

ANOREXIC JAPANESE CHICK
(reaches over, feels)
Nice and big. Feel good.

BLAND
Say, do you girls know --
(pulls out photo)
This girl?

The dewy beauties look.
Shake their heads ‘no.’

Then look at each other. Smile.
Riding a mutual chemical wave of pleasure.

TALL JAPANESE CHICK
Sorry.

ANOREXIC JAPANESE CHICK
Don’t know her.
(looks at Tall Chick)
You are so beautiful.
I love you, Meka.

MEKA
I love you too, Grace.
You’re more beautiful.

They lean in. Kiss.
Bland stares. Transfixed. Rock hard.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Meka and Grace, sittin’ in a tree,
k-i-s-s-i-n-g.

They pull apart. Look at --

FRIDAY
on the opposite side of them as Bland.
Holding Dolly’s hand.

FRIDAY
Girlies lookin’ HOT tonight.

She sees Bland. Recognizes him.
Almost panics. Then, realizes.

She’s safe in her disguise.
Smiles imperiously.

MEKA
Lady in red.
Mistress Bella Donna.
Gorgeous your own bad self.

Grace reaches up.
Feels Friday’s vinyl.
Tactile stimulation.

GRACE
So -- smooth. Shiny.

FRIDAY
(looks at Bland)
So who’s the tranny chaser?
And does he know you two
are brother and sister?

The girls giggle.
Shake their head ‘no.’

BLAND
Brother and -- sister?
I don’t understand.

Meka rolls her eyes.
Grabs Bland’s hand.

Places it on her naughty bits.
Slowly grinds into it.

BLAND
You have a cock?
You have a COCK.

MEKA
(to Grace)
He din’ know.

GRACE
(takes Bland’s hand)
Come dance with us.

Bland JERKS his hand away.

BLAND
Don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t --
(beat)
I need to get a drink.

Fucked-Up Fun

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. 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 HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster gets her kinky groove on at Club Fuck, where she meets a little 'Dolly' to play with ... but little does she know that mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener has followed her there ...


EXT. CLUB FUCK - NIGHT
DOLLY (16) walks in.
Alabaster skin. Red lips.

Demure in that Wednesday Adams kinda way.
Must be the braids tied in ribbons.

The striped stockings.
Or is it the lollipop.

Where’s Humbert Humbert
when you need him?

Right behind her is Bland,
dressed in full combat fatigues.
He walks up to the doorperson.

ZED
I think you’ve got the wrong club.
The Village People look-alike contest
is down the street at the Cock Ring.

Bland takes off his shades.
Squints menacingly.

BLAND
Huh. I think I was just insulted.

He reaches up and SQUEEZES Zed’s neck.
His face turns RED.

BLAND
If I was angry,
I would pop your head like a zit.

He lets go.
Zed sucks in air.

BLAND
(pulls out money)
But I’m not angry.
I just want to have some
fucked-up fun tonight.
(slaps it in Zed’s hand)
So be a good little freak,
take the bribe,
and get the fuck out of my way.

Bland smiles grimly.
Pushes him aside. Walks in.

INT. CLUB FUCK - BACK BAR - CONTINUOUS
The filthy go-go groove of
The Thrill Kill Kult’s
GIRL WITHOUT A PLANET hip-swings over --

Friday. Perched on a bar stool.
Scoping out the action.

FRIDAY
'She’s a girl without a planet,
a girl without a home -- '

A FAT SLOB
in a diaper approaches her.

FAT SLOB
Mistress, I’ve been a very bad boy.
I made pee-pee.

FRIDAY
Freak. How old are you?

FAT SLOB
I’m three, mistress.

FRIDAY
I’m not your mistress, you fat fuck.
You don’t deserve my greatness.
And I don’t remember hearing you
ask permission to SPEAK to me.

FAT SLOB
Thank you, mistress.

FRIDAY
I said -- NO.

She gets off her stool.
Grabs an ashtray.

FLINGS it in his face.
Ashes, cigarettes stick
to his sweaty face, body.

FAT SLOB
I don’t deserve your attention, mistress.
I am so sorry. So sorry.
(gets on his knees)
Please forgive me mistress,
tell me what I can do
to earn your forgiveness.

FRIDAY
You can buy me a drink.
And then go change your fucking diaper.
You reek of piss.

FAT SLOB
Yes, Mistress -- I reek of piss.
Thank you, Mistress.
(to the bartender)
Please give the divine mistress
another round of whatever she’s having.
(pulls business card out of diaper)
Irv Sloca, CPA. Former IRS.
Now I help protect the
little guy from the bastards.

FRIDAY
Thanks, Irv.
Now, please -- don’t take
this the wrong way,
but I’m trying to get lucky tonight,
and your outfit kinda
clashes with my fabulousness.
No hard feelings --

IRV
None taken.
Glorious mistress of great beauty,
I bid you adieu.

He leaves.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
That was so cool.

Friday turns. Sees --

DOLLY.
One stool over.

FRIDAY
Is that an all-day sucker?

DOLLY
Depends.

FRIDAY
Depends on what.

PUSH IN ON Dolly.
Slides the lolly out.
Naughty smile.

DOLLY
Who’s doing the sucking --

The Boulevard Of Broken Necks

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 17 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, news anchorwoman Sue Simon interviews the trophy wife that fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster carjacked at gunpoint. Meanwhile, Friday arrives at Club Fuck for an evening of perverted fun ...


INT. NEWS STUDIO - NIGHT
SUE SIMON (40’s), pretty, African-American,
sits in a comfy chair.

Next to her on the couch is
TROPHY WIFE.

SUE
(into the camera)
Welcome back to Channel 12
News Fix at Six.
(leans forward, eager)
With us today is Dendra von Boutrous,
wife of socialite hedge fund manager
Victor von Boutrous --

DENDRA
My husband is like, so NOT a gardener.
He does, like, investments and stuff.

SUE
And a hedge fund is put together
by a group of investors --
(beat)
So tell me, what
went through your head
when Friday Foster
hijacked your car at gunpoint?

DENDRA
Ohmigod. I thought I was
going to pee my pants.

SUE
Bonus points for Dendra.
(into the camera)
Next up, We’ll talk to Marilyn Manson
about his new children’s book --

EXT. CLUB FUCK - NIGHT
Hollywood and Vine.
The boulevard of broken necks.

An old, Deco movie theatre.
Now den of depravity. Times ten.

Not quite the witching hour.
But don’t tell that to the long line
of FUCKED-UP CLUB KIDS.

Trannies. Tweakers. Junkies. Whores.
Masters. Slaves. Gays. Straights. In-betweens.

A black super-stretch limo
pulls up to the curb.

FEMALE VOICE (O.C.)
Hey, Xanax. We gotta celeb.

The door FLIES OPEN.
A long, lean flash of thigh.
It’s FRIDAY, red vinylicious.

She straightens up.
Well over six-feet in platforms.
Excuse me while I touch the sky.

FRIDAY
(gazing longingly at the crowd)
Auntie Em.
There’s no place like home.

AT THE DOOR
the hedonatrix chats up the DOORPERSON.
Shirtless. Covered with ink.

Hair scooped into horns.
And, hey - nice nose ring.

DOORPERSON
Mistress Bella Donna. Been awhile.
Where you been hidin’ your cruel self?

FRIDAY
Places to go, people to see, Zed.

ZED
You finally get your big movie deal?

FRIDAY
Secret.
What happens in hell, stays in hell.
I’m here to forget the
happy, shiny world outside.

ZED
(raises the velvet rope)
On the house, your gorgeousness.
Have a good time.

FRIDAY
You mean bad time.

INT. CLUB FUCK - CONTINUOUS
The saucy, bitchy snarl of
Blondie’s RIP HER TO SHREDS over --

FRIDAY walks down a long corridor of mirrors.
Boots CLACKING. Checking out her reflection.

Fabulous.

INT. CLUB FUCK - FRONT BAR - CONTINUOUS
Our vixen orders her poison. Imperious.

FRIDAY
Absinthe. Jaeger back.

The GOTH BARTENDER nods.
Reaches for the bottle. Pours.

FRIDAY
Nice wedding dress. Retail Slut?

GOTH BARTENDER
(hands her the drink)
Nah. My girlfriend made it.

FRIDAY
(toasts)
Here’s mud in your catheter --

Martini Built For Two

Happy Thursday, 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 16 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster is holed up at the Chateau Marmont dressed in kinky fetish club gear getting ready for a night on the town at Club Fuck. Meanwhile, her ex, suspended homicide dick Carrie Love, goes to her apartment to search for clues, and runs into alternative weekly reporter Kelly Klavan, who has his own agenda ...


INT. CHATEAU MARMONT - BUNGALOW FIVE - NIGHT
Saucy, hip-shaking depravity on the stereo.
My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult’s
A MARTINI BUILT FOR TWO oozes promises of sin.
Salvation. Getting royally laid.

Friday’s poured into a red vinyl number
that screams 'kinky.'
Thigh-high boots.

Maybe it’s the cowl.
Or is it the horns and tail --
that spell ‘devil.’

FRIDAY
(sings along)
'I sit here all alone,
in a martini built for two -- '

The deviant sips a Kettle One vodka martini.
SNAPS a riding crop against her thigh.
Evil smile. Steps out onto --

EXT. BUNGALOW 5 - TERRACE - CONTINUOUS
Inky black humid nightfall.
Distant traffic sounds.

Ugly, violent, RAP MUSIC
blares from Bungalow 6.

FRIDAY
HEY. Can you turn that
jungle shit DOWN?

A huge, GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA appears.
An apparition in the dark.
He raises an UZI.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
(British accent)
What the bloody fuck?

Friday pulls out her piece.
Aims it. Scowls.

FRIDAY
THIS is ‘the fuck.’

Gangsta’s saftey CLICKS.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
You have balls, lady.

FRIDAY
No. I don’t.

Pause.

GOLD-TOOTHED GANGSTA
I must say, you look positively smashing.
Would you like to go to a party?

FRIDAY
(smiles, toasts)
Sorry, big guy.
Already got one.

INT. FRIDAY’S APARTMENT - AT THAT MOMENT
A bright swath of light sweeps the living room, until --
It strikes a FEMALE FIGURE in black. Back turned.

MALE VOICE (O.C.)
Friday?

The woman WHIPS AROUND.
It’s CARRIE LOVE.

She WHIPS OUT a HANDGUN.
SHINES a flashlight on --

KELLY
holding an electric torch.

CARRIE
Police! Hold it right there! Identify yourself!
KELLY
It’s okay, it’s okay!
I’m not armed!
I’m a reporter, K-Kelly Klavan!
I’m a friend of hers.
(beat)
Hoo-boy --

CARRIE
Goddammit.
You scared the shit out of me.

KELLY
Then we’re even.
(puts hand on chest, feels)
Talk about beats per minute --

CARRIE
What are you doing here?

KELLY
I saw the story on the news
and I thought maybe I could
dig up something, a clue --

CARRIE
What paper are you with?

KELLY
City Weekly.
What division are you, robbery?

CARRIE
I’m a homicide detective.
City Weekly doesn’t cover crime.

KELLY
So we’re both moonlighting.

CARRIE
I was -- seeing her.
(low)
Romantically.

KELLY
So was I.
Well, for one night.
But as you’ve just confirmed,
I didn’t have a chance,
as she is a sister
of the saphic arts.

Carrie stares at him.
Wheels turning. Her eyes flash.

CARRIE
Okay. Here’s the deal.
I work better with a partner.
Helps not getting killed.
Thing is, I’m officially off-duty.

KELLY
So you need a partner.

CARRIE
Yeah. And I need to go undercover.

KELLY
Do I get a gun?

CARRIE
No.

KELLY
Okay. I’m in.
(beat)
You sure I can’t have a gun?

CARRIE
No gun.

KELLY
How about one without bullets?

CARRIE
It’s against the law.

KELLY
But what if you need backup --

CARRIE
I SAID NO.
And that means NO.
So zip it, before I change my mind.

KELLY
Alight, okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
(beat)
How about a realistic
looking water-pistol?

Carrie pulls out her piece.
Aims it him. CLICKS the safety.

KELLY
Okay. Okay. Okay. No gun. No gun.

As they start to leave --

KELLY
You want to go
get a cup of coffee?

CARRIE
And what, plot our strategy?

KELLY
Yeah.

CARRIE
Nah. I hate that shit.

Hot And Cold Running Decadence

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Hump Day. 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 15 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster, in disguise, checks into the Chateau Marmont to hide out and plan her next move. Meanwhile, mercenary-for-hire Bland Loosener searches Friday's apartment, and finds an invite to a 'special party' at Club Fuck ...


EXT. CHATEAU MARMONT - NIGHT
A limo pulls up to the entrance. Stops.
Ponytailed DRIVER gets out.

Walks to the passenger door.
Opens it. Out steps --

A tall WOMAN.
Massive mane of blonde.

Big shades. Cowboy hat.
Sharkskin suit. Great legs.

She watches ponytail pull out luggage.
Shopping bags. A guitar case.
A bird in a cage.

A BODYBUILDER-LOOKING PORTER
pulls a cart up to the mountain of Blonde’s stuff.

BODYBUILDER-LOOKING PORTER
Good evening, Miss.

BLONDE
(flashes ring, Italian accent)
Oh, I’m marreed.
My name ees Francesca Bertolucci.
My husband is --

BODYBUILDER-LOOKING-PORTER
Bernardo Bertolucci?
Yes, ma’am. Right this way --

INT. CHATEAU MARMONT - REGISTRATION DESK - NIGHT
The officious FRONT DESK CLERK
stares at a computer monitor.

OFFICIOUS CLERK
I’m sorry, Mrs. Bertolucci,
but I don’t see a reservation --

BLONDE
Eye’m going to ring
dat assistant’s NECK.
Please look again.
Bernardo will be most upset.
He’s joining me here in a couple of days.

OFFICIOUS CLERK
(punching buttons)
No, I’m sorry, there’s no
reservation for Bertolucci --

The blonde pulls a wad of bills
out of her bag.
Starts peeling off hundreds.

BLONDE
Tell you what.
Why don’t you give me a
nice, cute little bungalow --
and then go out on the town, on me.

She lays what looks like
a couple thousand on the desk.

The clerk eyes bug. He swallows.
Scoops them up. RINGS a bell.

OFFICIOUS CLERK
Porter. Please show
Mrs. Bertolucci to Bungalow 5.

EXT. BUNGALOW 5 - MOMENTS LATER
The porter wheels the Blonde’s things
into the front door.
She follows, imperious.

INT. BUNGALOW 5 - CONTINUOUS
He shows her the lux digs.

PORTER
Satellite plasma TV. Mini-bar.
Jacuzzi. Room service menu.
Massage schedule.

BLONDE
(hands him a hundred)
Thanks, chief.
Spend it in lots of places.

PORTER
Enjoy your stay.

BLONDE
I always do.

He smiles. Nods. Leaves.
She goes to the door. Locks it.
Looks around. SQUEALS with joy --

BLONDE
Holy SHIT.

And WHIPS OFF her wig.
We see it’s FRIDAY.

FRIDAY
Now this is more like it.
Hot and cold running decadence.
I’m gonna haveta find a
suitcase full of cash more often --

INT. FRIDAY’S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Dark. A FLASHLIGHT sweeping the blackness.
A FIGURE rifles through papers on a desk.
Talks on a cell.

FIGURE
She’s a civilian,
some kind of writer.

We realize it’s Bland.

BLAND
Movie scripts.
(listens)
What else?
Just a pile of bills.
There’s no power, no phone, just --
(beat)
Wait a minute.

The light FLASHES on a club invite.
‘Club Fuck.’

With a drawing of a
latex honey with a whip.

BLAND
I just found one of her hangouts.
Invite says some big party tonight --
(beat)
And I think somebody’s
about due for a spanking --

I Love A Man In A Uniform

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 14 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, mercenary Bland Loosener sneaks into Israeli mob boss Zvi Ben-Arut's beachfront condo and gives him a deadly surprise in the bedroom. Meanwhile fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster's illegal exploits have 'gone viral' on the web, making her famous overnight ...


EXT. MARINA DEL REY - OCEAN SHORELINE - NIGHT
Over the following sequence, the roiling,
marshal-stomp of The Gang of Four’s
I LOVE A MAN IN A UNIFORM.

Moonlight. A LONE SURFER
rides a CRASHING WAVE to shore.

We see it’s BLAND.
Hang ten, dude.

Rides the wave all the way in.
HOPS off the board.
Starts walking.

EXT. BEACH CONDO - REAR ENTRANCE - MOMENTS LATER
Bland unscrews the faceplate to the
SECURITY KEY CODE BOX.

SNIPS a wire.
Takes out a lock-pick.
Works it in the keyhole.

CLICK.
He pushes the door open.

IN THE ELEVATOR
riding up, Bland whistles along.
Taps his toe.

AT ZVI’S FRONT DOOR
he pulls out a credit card.
A long, thin screwdriver.

Works the door.
It opens, click.

IN THE CORRIDOR
Bland tip-toes past expensive art.
Sculptures. A MIRROR.

He stops. Looks at himself.
Gives a ‘thumbs up.’ Winks.

AT A DOORWAY
he stops. Listens.

We hear LOVEMAKING coming from within.
Bland carefully, slowly,
leans around the doorway, sees --

ZVI lying in bed on top of Nymphet.
Making love.

She looks at the ceiling.
Counting the dots in the tiles.

He CLIMAXES.
A short, abrupt YELP of pleasure.

The bon vivant climbs off.
Sighs. Pads over to the bathroom.

BLAND
rushes in, a BLUR OF SPEED.
LEAPS in the air.

LANDS on the girl.
CLAMPS a meaty hand on her mouth.
Pulls out a knife.

BLAND
Scream and your face
is a Jack O'lantern.

He SLAPS duct tape on her mouth.
Smiles. Holds the knife up.
A warning. Turns. Creeps over to --

THE BATHROOM
where Zvi is taking a luxurious leak.
Humming.

BLAND WHIPS a STEEL CORD
around Zvi’s neck and GARROTS HIM.
Zvi’s body hits the tiles, THWUNK.

IN THE BEDROOM
Bland approaches the girl.
Eyes full of wonder.

Strips off his shirt.
Frightening tattoos of serpents and dragons.

He climbs on top of the trembling naif.
Peels off the tape.

BLAND
(soft, seductive)
May I have the next dance?

He leans down.
Starts to kiss her.

She opens her mouth.
BITES his tongue.

BLAND
OW.

He GRABS her head. SPINS it. HARD.
Her neck CRACKS. Lights out.
Bland looks at her sadly.

BLAND
I hate when that happens --

INT. CHILD’S BEDROOM - AT THAT MOMENT
A pretty LITTLE GIRL (10)
surfs the net on her pink I-Mac.

Sappy Hannah Montana-like music
in the background.

ON THE SCREEN
We see she’s on Facebook
Watching a video on YouTube.

Titles under the video window
read BONUS POINTS.
Views: 1,213,503.

The video starts --
on a familiar scene --

Friday WHIPS OUT her gun.
Points it at the waitress.
A woman SCREAMS.

FRIDAY
So, I’m gonna ask you to smile for me.
Pretty please? With sugar on top?
A big, bright pageant smile?

The waitress DROPS her tray.
CLANG. Frozen, weird smile.

Friday places the gun
against the waitress’s temple.

FRIDAY
Bonus points if you pee your pants.

A TINY FINGER
presses ‘Like.’

Never Date A Bisexual

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. 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 13 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster listens to the news on the radio in her stolen car and hears a report about her crime wave, much to her delight. Meanwhile, local alternative press reporter Kelly Klavan decides to do a story on Friday, and starts researching her exploits ...


INT. CADILLAC ESCALADE - MOVING - DUSK
Friday drives.
Punches buttons
on the stereo remote.

Radio stations fly by,
snippets of classical,
rap, country, classic rock, then --

ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Which ended in a shoot-out
at the Lambert Institute.

FRIDAY
Holy shit.
I made the news.

ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
Police have now identified
the gunwoman as Friday Foster,
twenty-nine,
an unemployed Venice screenwriter.
She is currently wearing a
denim jacket, sunglasses
and a baseball cap.

FRIDAY
You just described
half the city.

ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
If you see this woman,
notify the police immediately --
but keep your distance.
This is one dangerous lady.

FRIDAY
You said it.
Not me.

INT. CITY WEEKLY - EDITORIAL OFFICES - AT THAT MOMENT
A maze of cubicles.
Messy, cluttered, very counterculture.

Sitting amidst a mountain of
papers and file folders is
KELLY KLAVAN (32), thin, wild-eyed.

Jittery with energy.
The very definition of
the term ‘metrosexual.’

He looks at an
imaginary spot on his tie.

Wets a finger, WHISKS it.
Holds it up to the light.
Hmmmm.

A CHUBBY EDITOR
waddles by carrying a coffee pot.

CHUBBY EDITOR
You almost done with that
story on the migrant
leaf-blower union?

KELLY
It’ll be done this afternoon.
Hey, Nico -- you know that story
running on the IP wire
about the girl with the gun,
the carjacking thing?

Nico stops.
Looks at Kelly.

NICO
What about it?
You fuck her?

KELLY
If you must know, yes I did.
Probably the MOST memorable night
of passion I ever had.
Crazy, intense chick. Funny.
(beat)
Take my advice.
Never date a bisexual.

NICO
What about her?

KELLY
I want to do
a story on her.

NICO
We don’t do that
kind of story,
you know that.

KELLY
I’m sick of the
small-time stuff, Nico.
I want to do a STORY.

NICO
Then go work for
the Times Tribune.
Maybe they’ll let you
cover a cat up in a tree.
(as he leaves)
And I need the piece
on the school board
budget vote today.

KELLY
(imitates him)
‘And I need the piece
on the school board
budget vote today.’
(beat)
Idiot.

Kelly swivels his chair
toward the computer.

Starts CLACKING
on the keyboard.

KELLY
Okay, Friday Foster.
Let’s do a little web search,
see what you’ve been up to --

Let Your Fingers Do The Felony

Happy Thursday, 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 12 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, Israeli mercenary Bland Loosener arrives onshore via surfboard after escaping from the cops. Meanwhile, suspended homicide detective Carrie Love tells her ex, fellow homicide dick Bernie Keko about her girlfriend, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster's exploits with the law, and vows to save her ...


INT. SANTA MONICA - OCEAN SHORE - DUSK
A postcard sunset.
Riot of orange and red smears the sky.

A lone SURFER lies on his board.
Waiting for a wave. Stoic.

A hulking FIGURE IN BLACK
rises out of the water behind him.

LUNGES. Big, thick arms GRAPPLE him.
FLIP the board --

UNDERWATER
the surfer STRUGGLES
with the apparition.

But he’s clamped to the board.
Facing down.

He JERKS. THRASHES.
Then, a bit weaker. And weaker.
Slows. Stops. Bubbles rise.

ON THE SURFACE
the figure rises.
Sits up on the board.
We see it’s Bland.

BLAND
Permission to go ashore, SIR.

He starts paddling.

INT. SANTA MONICA POLICE HEADQUARTERS - SQUAD ROOM - DUSK
The detective room is empty.
Except for Carrie Love.

Straddling a chair backwards.
Staring at a computer monitor.

In walks BERNIE KEKO (40).
Armenian. Burly. Salt and pepper.

Jock gone to seed, but still hunky.
Think a greasy Mickey Rourke type.
Bitter. Full of swagger. Bravado.

BERNIE
What the fuck are you doing here?
If Lipshitz catches you,
it’s your twat in a sling.

CARRIE
Can it, Keko.
I was just getting some
shit outta my desk.
You’re really loving this,
aren’t you.

BERNIE
Well, let’s see --
after you LEFT ME for a BROAD,
kicked me out of MY FUCKING HOUSE,
you can EXCUSE ME for not being
SYMPATHETIC when you get FUCKING SUSPENDED.

Carrie lights a smoke.
Eyes haunted.

CARRIE
(looking at the screen)
You know that female perp
caught on tape at the Venice beach cafe --
and then at the think-tank?

BERNIE
You’re confusing me
with somebody who gives a shit.
And there’s no smoking.

CARRIE
(points)
That’s her.
We had a fight this morning,
I walked out, and now -- this.
(points at the screen)
She just carjacked a Cadillac Escalade
on Wilshire and Third.
Take a look at this --

He squints at her monitor.

FRIDAY
points her Magnum into the CAMERA.

BERNIE
stares. Shakes his head.

BERNIE
Broad’s got balls.
But how did the victim get the pix?

CARRIE
On her cell phone.

BERNIE
Let your fingers do the felony.

CARRIE
I’m going to bring her in.

BERNIE
What? Did you join
the Neighborhood Patrol?

CARRIE
I can still make a citizen’s arrest --

BERNIE
Don’t you have a carpet to go munch?

CARRIE
You’ve worked homicide what,
ten years now?
Wouldn’t you like to just once,
nab a perp before they kill someone?

BERNIE
So you know she’s gonna kill somebody.

CARRIE
Yeah. I do.

BERNIE
And I suppose you know who.

PUSH IN ON Carrie.
Fighting back tears.

CARRIE
Yeah.
(beat)
Herself --

Desperate Whore-Wife

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Wednesday. 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 11 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, fugitive screenwriter Friday Foster realizes she needs wheels, so she hijacks a big, bright, shiny new Cadillac Escalade from a terrified trophy wife ...


EXT. WILSHIRE BOULEVARD - DUSK
The wind is kicking up.
Getting chilly.

Friday sees a Santa Monica
POLICE CRUISER pass by.
Quickly turns her head away.

FRIDAY
‘The Fugitive.’
(beat)
I’m gonna need some new wheels.
Nobody walks in L.A. Nobody.
Losers walk.

DOWN THE STREET
A PNEUMATIC TROPHY WIFE
strolls out of Starbucks with her Machiatta.

Talks on her cell.
Shakin’ her Juicy Couture butt.

PNEUMATIC TROPHY WIFE
Don’t tell me, don’t tell me!
I Tivo’d it, I had to watch
‘The Biggest Asshole.’

FRIDAY
watches. Smiles. Evil.

FRIDAY
Bingo.

She falls into step behind
the coffee-sipper as she
nears her monstrous,
red Cadillac Escalade.

PNEUMATIC TROPHY WIFE
Blake Lively bleaches her sphincter?
No way.

Trophy pulls out her keys --
presses the autolock, THWIP.

She opens the passenger-side door.
Puts her bag on the seat.

And, as she walks around
to the driver’s side,
Friday HOPS IN.
Pulls out her gun.

The car floods with the
sickenly-sweet sounds of Coldplay.

Ms. SUV climbs in.
Doesn’t notice Friday, until --

CLICK-CLICK
She turns. Sees her. The gun.

PNEUMATIC TROPHY WIFE
Ohmigod. Don’t hurt me.
Please don’t hurt me.

FRIDAY
Shut that FUCKING BEIGE music OFF.
Coldplay fucking SUCKS.

Trophy does.
Shaking with fear.
Staring at the gun.

PNEUMATIC TROPHY WIFE
Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot!
I’ll give you anything you want --

She pulls out her wallet.

FRIDAY
That’s a good start.
Gimmee the bag, too.
Betcha got a lotta
cool stuff in there.
Real goody bag.

Trophy hands it over.

FRIDAY
Now your keys.

PNEUMATIC TROPHY WIFE
Oh, no, please --
my husband would kill me.
He just bought me this car
for my birthday --

Friday JAMS the Magnum
against the woman’s head.

FRIDAY
Correction.
Your husband will be
really pissed off,
but you’ll give him head tonight,
and he’ll buy you a shiny new toy.
I’M the one who’ll KILL you.
So hand over the keys,
desperate whore-wife.
(quiet)
Before I splatter the Corinthian leather
with your pretty pink brains.

Trembling, she hands
Friday the keys.

FRIDAY
Get outta the fucking car. NOW.

Trophy wife looks like
she’s about to freak out.

Shaking, she opens the door.
Slowly climbs out.

PUSH IN ON Friday’s face.
Having a ball.

FRIDAY
And gimmee that five-dollar COFFEE.

Bonus Points If You Pee Your Pants

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 10 of HIT & RUN HOLIDAY, the media picks up on outlaw screenwriter Friday Foster's crime wave, and starts reporting on her misdeeds. Meanwhile, her ex Carrie Love is 'partying' with the club girl she picked up, but when she sees that Friday's on the news, she races to the rescue ...


SCREAMING graphics WHIZ BY at LIGHTNING SPEED.
COPS. BAD GUYS. HOSTAGES. RIOTS.
A COP STUN-GUNS a PERP.

Then, LARGE BLOCK LETTERS,
one at a time, spell --

C-R-I-M-E T-I-M-E N-E-W-S!

INT. TV NEWS STUDIO - DAY
A grim-looking but faintly smiling
BLONDE WASP ANCHOR sits behind the news desk
with a beautiful young LATINA CO-ANCHOR.

BLONDE WASP ANCHOR
And in what first appeared to be
a random act of terror,
has now spread to
downtown Santa Monica
in what is starting to
look like a crime wave --
(looks at Latina)
Rebecca?

REBECCA
That’s right, Johnny.
Several acts of violence
have now been connected
to the same person.
A young woman.
(beat)
A tourist on the Venice Boardwalk
caught on tape this altercation
between a waitress and the
unidentified woman at
the Cracked Earth Cafe.

ON GRAINY, HAND-HELD VIDEO
Friday WHIPS OUT her gun.
Points it at the waitress.

A woman SCREAMS.

FRIDAY
So, I’m gonna ask you
to smile for me. Pretty please?
With sugar on top?
A big, bright pageant smile?

The waitress DROPS her tray.
CLANG. Frozen, weird smile.

Friday places the gun
against the waitress’s temple.

FRIDAY
Bonus points if you pee your pants.

IN THE STUDIO

JOHNNY
We’ve just learned that
what looks like the same woman
tried to kidnap and terrorize
Dann Israel, a Nobel-Prize winning Ph.D.
in economics at the Lambert Institute.
After a brief struggle,
the mystery woman made her escape.

REBECCA
Police are asking anyone
who has seen this woman
to immediately contact
their local precinct.

JOHNNY
Next up, Candy Smoot tells us
how ring tones might just
lower your sperm count.
And, quite possibly -- your IQ.

EXT. MARINA PENINSULA - ALLEY - AT THAT MOMENT
A couple blocks south of the Venice pier.
The cheap seats.

A set of decrepit wooden stairs
leads up to a tiny apartment.

INT. ONE-ROOM APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS
Shades down. Dust motes dance in the darkness.

TV on with the sound off
across from a seedy couch.

The Thrill Kill Kult’s sleazy
MONDO FEVER plays softly
on a shitty stereo.

Carrie sits with Woman in Black
on the couch. Loading a bong.

CARRIE
So what’s your real name?

WOMAN IN BLACK
Sinderella IS my real name.
Spelled with an ‘S’.
Get it? SIN-derella.

CARRIE
So what, you have
glass bondage boots?

Sinderella looks up.
Confused. Offers the bong.

SINDERELLA
Huh?

Carrie takes it.
Pulls out her lighter.

CARRIE
Never mind.
(glances at the bong)
Nice skull -- lifelike.

She FIRES UP the pipe.
Takes a big hit.

Glances at the TV.
EXHALES a large cloud of smoke -- WHOOSH.

CARRIE
Shit --

Carrie races to the set.
CRANKS UP the volume.

ON THE TV
Friday points her GUN
at the waitress.

NEWS ANCHOR (O.C.)
-- at the Cracked Earth Cafe,
about an hour ago.
Witnesses on the scene say
she drove off in a
late model Nissan Sentra.

CARRIE
Friday, what have you done?

SINDERELLA
Who’s Friday?

CARRIE
SHHH.

FAT, WISECRACKING WEATHER GUY (O.C.)
Well, that’s a new one, Colin.
'Restaurant rage' --

COLIN (O.C.)
Tell me about it.
Wonder if she left a tip.

Carrie jumps up.
Races to the door.

SINDERELLA
Where you goin’?
I thought we were gonna
play ‘next of kin.’

CARRIE
I’m sorry, doll --
but I gotta go help someone.

SINDERELLA
After a hit of sticky purple kush?

CARRIE
It’s okay. I’m off-duty.

And she’s gone.
Sinderella runs to the door.
BOLTS it.

SINDERELLA
What the FUCK! Fucking COP?