Tuesday, December 11, 2012
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 17 of LEGS, Episode 3, it's the mother of all interrogations when private eye Carrie Love and her ex-husband homicide dick Bernie Keko question the thief that stole Bernie's mother's car that she was kidnapped in ...
INT. POLICE STATION - INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY
A plain cinder block room with a small table,
two chairs and the obligatory
two-way mirror on the wall.
Seedy-Looking Car Thief sits in
one of the chairs smoking a cigarette.
Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz,
I wanted to click my heels three times
and chant there’s no place like home,
there’s no place like home --
Except after getting shit-canned
from the department for boffing
the chief’s underaged daughter,
I felt more like the Cowardly Lion
at a leather bar in West Hollywood
on ‘Fist night.’
IN THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE
Bernie and Carrie talk with LARRY LIPSHITZ, (50’s),
chief of detectives, small and round,
and right now, very angry.
You gotta be fucking kidding me.
There’s no way in hell
I’m gonna let you bring her in
on an interrogation.
Listen to me, Larry.
These dumb-shits kidnapped my MOTHER,
and this fucker stole her CAR,
which was probably parked
where they’ve got her.
They said ‘no cops,’
so Carrie’s helping me
with the case. I NEED her.
You gotta make an exception. J
ust this once, please.
They’ve got my MOTHER.
I’ll be good. Promise.
When have I heard THAT before?
It’s just an interrogation, Larry.
And I’ll be there. C’mon.
We don’t have much time.
My mom’s a diabetic --
Oh, shit. That’s right, I forgot.
Okay, okay, okay --
But none of that Basic Instinct shit, okay?
You flash your cooch like you did last time,
and your OUTTA here.
'Cooch-free zone.' Promise.
You wearing panties?
INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY
Carrie sits across from Seedy-Looking.
Bernie leans against the wall glaring at him,
arms folded across his chest.
You were picked up driving a stolen car, Leon.
We need to know where it was parked.
I’m not saying a word until I speak to my lawyer.
We haven’t charged you yet, Leon.
If cooperate with us,
we can cut you a deal.
What part of ‘I want to talk to my lawyer’
didn’t you get?
Larry RUSHES OVER.
GRABS him by the shirt collar.
YANKS him up out of his chair.
Gets in his face.
SHUT THE FUCK UP.
Listen to me, you little piece of shit.
That was my MOTHER’S car,
and she was fucking KIDNAPPED in it.
If you tell us where you fucking stole it from,
maybe we can RESCUE her, GOT it?
Let go of my fucking shirt, you freak.
What do you think this is, Rampart?
I can file CHARGES against you for this shit.
Bernie. Let go of him.
Let me handle this.
Go get a cup of coffee and chill out
Bernie lets go of Leon.
Stares at Carrie.
Back in five.
Next time I won’t be so NICE.
He storms out. SLAMS the door.
BEHIND THE TWO-WAY MIRROR
Stands Larry and a couple of DETECTIVES.
They were such a great team.
He takes it right up to the edge,
and she makes him back off.
Now that’s what I call 'an interrogation.'
IN THE INTERROGATION ROOM
Carrie pulls out a cigarette from the pack.
Lights one up.
Exhales a taunting French curl.
Crosses her legs.
Sorry about my partner.
He's out of his mind
worried about his mother
I’m sure you’d be upset
if someone grabbed your mother.
My mother’s dead.
And she was cunt.
Carrie takes another hit.
Looks him right in the eye.
Uncrosses her legs.
Opens them wide.
Leon’s eyes bulge.
Tell me where you jacked the wheels
and we’ll drop all the charges.
You walk outta here right now a free man.
Leon stares, in a trance.
Behind a Gulf Stream double-wide
in that trailer park on Stewart
near the freeway overpass.
She slowly crosses her legs
in the other direction.
See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?
BEHIND THE TWO-WAY MIRROR
Larry does a slow burn.
(grins, to Asian Officer)
Sure wish I could freeze-frame THAT
Oh, man. I'd slow-mo the SHIT outta that.
(low, to himself)
The fucking bitch.
She did it again.