Wednesday, September 26, 2012
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.
Friday ride shotgun.
Cradles an Uzi.
I used to go by ‘The Game,’
but that asshole fucking stole it.
Should of copyrighted that shit.
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.
Five-k? That’s cost.
And that’s without ammunition.
Okay, six, and a couple hundred for ammo.
All you have.
Seven POINT FIVE -- and we have a deal.
She grins. They shake. Light up.
Friday looks at his smokes.
Can I ask you a dumb question?
You can ask. But I might not answer.
Why do so many black people smoke menthols?
He stares at her a long beat.
Then BURSTS into laughter.
C’mon, I’m not joking.
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.
Buying lottery tickets --
Another thing entirely.
File that under ‘ghetto behavior.’
So what are you planning
to do with your bright, new shiny gun?
Rob the movie studio?
Nah. There’s no money there --
So why all the weapons?
Let’s just say I’ve got a beef --
(a’la Dirty Harry)
And its time to fire up the grill.
Hey. I like that.
Yeah. Sounds -- meaty.
He looks at her.
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 --
sprinting down the sidewalk.
Reaching the next corner.
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.
runs after him.
Sees his two-wheeled escape vehicle.
The Bicycle thief! Somebody stop him!
hears her. Turns around, pedalling.
sprints. Hears a MOTOR GROWL.
Turns, sees --
A HOT CHICK
on a Vespa scooter.
Knapsack overflowing with books. UCLA.
runs up to the chick.
Waves her arms.
Police, off the bike!
This is an emergency!
HOT UCLA CHICK
You’re not a cop. Fuck you.
Yes I fucking AM.
Carrie PUNCHES her in the jaw.
Coed slides off the bike.
She jumps on. Looks down.
Shakes her head.
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.
I’m going to die, I’m going to die --
weaves between the cars.
pedals north on the sidewalk.
hits a trash can. BANG.
Pedestrians JUMP out of the way.
looks to her left. Sees her car. Kelly.
What the FUCK do you think you’re doing!
leans out the window.
I’m chasing him!
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.
Bland WHIZZES by. Going south.
There he goes! Down San Vicente!
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.
She turns the wheel, RAMS into the Mini.
MINI COOPER DRIVER
Fuck you! You hit my car!
leans out his window.
Carrie! He’s getting away! C’mon --
He GUNS it, turns right, going south.
ZOOMS away, hot on his tail.
Bland pumps furiously on the bike.
Pulls a PDA out of his pocket.
Fingers the buttons. Looks at --
of the area. A blinking RED LIGHT pulses,
a couple of blocks from a pop-up that reads
‘YOU ARE HERE.’
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.
Look. Crazy man ridin’ on the grass --
on the Vespa, followed by Kelly
in her car WHIZ by.
Shit. Look at that.
Damn. I can’t wait until I can drive --